“Because Safehold’s a big open valley, with plenty of places for you to run and hide,” Selen says. “Klats to suns there’s a trap on the other side of that gate, and once it’s shut, we won’t be able to get to you.”

  “Got a better plan, now’s the time for it,” I say. “Don’t like this one any more’n you.”

  “Don’t know.” Selen spreads her hands. “But there’s got to be something better than sending you in there alone.”

  “If there is, no one’s mentioned.” I suck in a deep breath, trying to calm a heart beating like a hummingbird’s wings. “Maybe I just need to sack up for once. Might be everything would be different, I hadn’t been too scared to just go on my own from the start.”

  “Ay, what’s that supposed to mean?” Selen asks.

  “That first night Olive was taken,” I say. “We were losing ground. They were getting away.”

  “Because of me,” Selen puts her hands on her hips. “Sack up and say it, if that’s what you mean.”

  “What do you want from me, Sel?” I shrug. “I’m faster than you. Ent a criticism, it’s a fact. If I’d gone on alone…”

  “Not this again.” Selen rolls her eyes. “What would you have done if you’d caught them? Three Krasian Watchers that took down Micha and Olive? Love you like a brother, Darin Bales, but you’re not a fighter, and you ent got the stomach for killin’ folk in their sleep.”

  “That’s just my point.” Selen’s lookin’ for a fight, but I don’t have one to give. “Ent got the stomach for anythin’. Just so corespawned scared all the time, I’ll do anything not to feel alone.”

  “Darin, that’s nonsense,” Selen says. “You’re one of the bravest people I’ve ever met.”

  It’s so ridiculous I can’t help but laugh, but it ent the kind of laugh that makes you feel good. “I was brave, I’d’ve just gone, Sel. Reckon I’d have figured somethin’ out. Freed Micha, maybe, or run off their horses so they couldn’t get Olive away in time. Left a trail for your da to follow. Somethin’.”

  “So that’s your plan?” Selen demands. “Just creep into that gate like a mouse and hope you figure something out before Alagai Ka gets you?”

  I hold up my palms. “Hopin’ what I figure out is how to open that gate from the inside, and then we all go sneakin’ together.”

  “Ay,” Selen says. “I hope so, too.”

  * * *

  —

  Turns out Hosta corn flour is perfect for Krasian yellow cake. Maybe it’s that I ent had a proper meal in months, but Rojvah’s is the best thing I’ve ever tasted. Better’n my aunt Selia’s butter cookies, and that’s sayin’ something.

  She cut me a big piece and waited for me to have a bite before serving the others. I was tasting the cake before it even reached my tongue, but when I closed my mouth and felt its spongy texture and my taste buds exploded, I let out a little moan of pleasure.

  Rojvah smelled so happy after that. She was stingy with slices for the others, and stood watch by the leftovers, but I can’t complain. She gave me a piece every day until Waning.

  Only now the cake’s gone and new moon is here.

  You can see it all over town. People puttin’ on their Seventhday best like they’re goin’ to services, carrying tribute for the mountain god.

  Thought about stowin’ away with the offerings. Most are baskets of food, small enough to be carried by one or two people. Even I’d have trouble hiding in those. There are some barrels, too, but those are empty—I can hear it in the roll. Folk would have to be idiots not to notice a change if someone was scrunched up inside.

  I’m already in my hiding spot when the crowd arrives in force at sunset. Too much traffic to hide behind one of the plinths, so I’m squeezed into a little nook behind one of the stone horns of the gigantic demon’s skull carved above the gate.

  Got a good view of the crowd in the meantime. Selen and the others hang back, trying not to draw attention to themselves as the Jechi Hosta gather and begin singing a sunset prayer. Song’s got a nice tune, but the words are somethin’ about welcoming the night, and I don’t like the sound of that. All I know, Alagai Ka’s right on the other side of that gate, waitin’ to come on out.

  Ent long to wait. The sun sets, and the only light comes from the big braziers illuminating the gate, and a scattering of oil lamps on poles in the crowd.

  I feel gears turning below me, tumblers clacking into place. A physical lock. But then there is a tingle of magic and the giant doors swing open of their own accord, revealing a lone man. He lowers a hand, as if he just touched something on the inside to trigger the effect. Maybe I can trigger it, too.

  “Cavivat,” some of the Jechi Hosta chant. Ruskan for “priest.” There is wonder at the word, and fear.

  The priest ent like any I’ve ever seen. Tenders of the Creator wear plain brown robes, but in my experience clergy’s a job for tidy folk. Those plain brown robes were clean and pressed, as were the bodies beneath. Hair always cropped in close.

  Dama take pride in their long beards, but they’re nothin’ if not fastidious. Cavivat’s robes are grubby and worn. His long hair and beard are knotted and wild, fingernails overgrown and filthy, and he stinks like a demon’s outhouse.

  But his aura is something else. Bright as Olive Paper’s when she’s full of fire, it pulses and pulls at a tether of magic seeping up from below.

  Cavivat strides forward, wavin’ his staff and shouting in the Jechi Hosta dialect. I don’t catch much of it, but I can sense the crowd’s attention on him. Ent caught a whiff of Alagai Ka, but just inside the gate there’s a residual scent in the air. Drones were there just moments ago.

  But they ent there now.

  No one notices as I spider-crawl out of hiding and skitter under the lip of the gate.

  It’s an entry hall of sorts, with another smaller gate on the far side. Walls and floor are cut with an artisan’s hand, and soaring supports around the room house statue nooks between. Squint and it might look like any other fancy hall, except the statues are all of demons.

  Supports all meet in the center of the high ceiling, giving me plenty of places to hide as I have a look around.

  The hall is packed with baskets and barrels, just like those the Jechi Hosta brought forth with their offerings. These are stuffed with gifts from the deep. Baskets of the meaty cave crabs Jechi Hosta favor in their cooking. Iron and other minerals for their forges. Barrels of oil for their lamps.

  “Feed the mountain, and the mountain feeds you!” Cavivat shouts. He’s been shouting a lot, but I can’t follow most of it.

  It all makes sense. How has this place stayed isolated for so long? With help from below. The villagers with gifts line up, each delivering a barrel or a basket, taking one in return and hurrying off smellin’ like they just won the horseshoe toss at the fair.

  Cavivat watches everyone, and I know it would be foolish for the others to try to sneak in this way. Even if they managed to squat behind a barrel and the priest didn’t notice, the door on the far side is still shut, and I don’t reckon things stay friendly once it’s open.

  “I have seen the mountain god in the Sight,” the grubby priest cries. “He is a numinous being, far greater than we mere mortals. It is an honor to serve Him. Who else is prepared to meet His gaze?”

  I crawl down the wall until I can peek out of the gates. Villagers are brought forward, most with gray hair and wrinkled skin, but others that look sickly or weak. One is missing a foot, the bandages still fresh.

  The Jechi Hosta volunteer the ones that slow them down, but there are no tears, save those of joy. Folk really think they’re off to live in Heaven?

  Cavivat ent satisfied. He starts pacing the edge of the crowd, Drawing magic through the Jechi Hosta and into himself, to Read their lives like the rings in a tree stump. Occasionally he stops, tapping folk with his staff and sending a pulse of magic through them and those around.

  Obediently, those chosen step forward, marching toward the gate, still singing. A girl who couldn’t be more than eight. A handsome man with arms like a blacksmith. A young mother, serenely walking right into the demon’s mouth with a babe still suckling at her breast.

  I wonder if the babe’s meant to be an appetizer, and feel like I might sick up.

  But then Cavivat shouts something I don’t understand, and waves begin rippling through the crowd, pushing forward until I see my friends shoved before the grubby priest.

  He reaches out with his staff, tapping Rojvah and sending out another pulse of magic, but whatever the spell is, it dun’t work on my friends. Harder to charm someone when they’re wise to it.

  The crowd opens and tries to push Rojvah forward, but Arick steps in, tripping and shoving anyone that puts a hand near his sister.

  The crowd turns ugly at that. I hear cries of “Unbelievers!” and “Strangers!” as the Jechi Hosta surge forward. Wonda and Selen join the fight, blacking eyes and breaking bones. Even Kendall puts herself between Rojvah and the crowd. But there ent much they can do against thousands of angry villagers. They’re quickly overpowered and hauled inside with the other sacrifices.

  Cavivat follows, and the villagers who forced my friends into the hall are quick to exit before the grubby priest touches a symbol, and the great demon gate slams shut.

  * * *

  —

  Here I was worryin’ about how to sneak my friends inside, and instead the villagers did it for me.

  I crawl along the ceiling, watching. For a moment my friends are alone with Cavivat. Arick, Selen, and Wonda are lying on the ground, badly beaten but still conscious. All are trying to get shaky limbs under them.

  Rojvah offered less resistance to the crowd, but as soon as the gates close, she slips her hero’s bone hanzhar out of its hidden sheath and darts at the priest, blade leading.

  Ent a good idea. Cavivat’s back is turned until the last minute, but when he moves, he moves fast. Catches her wrist and twists the blade from her hand as he bashes her head with his staff. She falls to the ground, blood pooling around her.

  The priest hisses, dropping the holy weapon like a hot frying pan. I can smell the burn where it touched his skin. I use the distraction to move until I’m directly above Cavivat, ready to pounce.

  The inner gate groans and opens before I can let go. Cave demons come out in a swarm, moving quick on eight legs. Met their kind before out on the desert, and heard of them in Mam’s stories. They can spin webs that are magic-dead and nearly invisible, yet strong as steel cable.

  I want to get to Rojvah, to make sure she’s all right. I want to help my friends. Mam wouldn’t hesitate, but Mam can rip a demon’s arm off and beat them to death with it. I have her knife, and maybe I could kill a cave demon with it, but there’s dozens of them.

  The demons avoid Rojvah’s knife; the hero’s bone relic’s magic is anathema to them. One squirts a glop of webbing onto it to insulate its magic.

  The Jechi Hosta finally realize they’re not marching into Heaven and start screaming. The cave demons pounce and snatch them up in their forelegs, spinning them around as thick strands of silk bind their limbs to their bodies.

  But the demons ent killing anyone. Ent even hurting ’em. Didn’t know demons could be gentle, but they ent biting or stabbing with those long, pointed limbs, and they’re careful not to web up anyone’s mouth or nose.

  Then they carry them through the second gate. Cavivat strolls after like he’s walking in the garden. I move quick to the doors, but they don’t close as the grubby priest and his demons exit. Instead, smaller worker drones come out and begin collecting the baskets of food.

  Something to keep the sacrifices fed until the demons get hungry.

  I spy Arick’s kamanj case where a cave demon cast it aside. I let go of the ceiling and turn slippery, quietly absorbing the impact as I hit the floor. I keep my Cloak of Unsight wrapped tight around me as I collect Rojvah’s hanzhar and the kamanj.

  Then I suck in, my body becoming smaller and tougher as I move among the worker drones, trusting in Mam’s cloak to hide me. Sucking in dulls my scent as well. I tiptoe quieter than a cat stalking a bird as I head for the gates.

  And into the demon’s web.

  * * *

  —

  Trail ent hard to follow. Cavivat’s stink leaves a trail like a demon with runny bowels.

  Got to take special care. Made the mistake the last time I went into one of Alagai Ka’s lairs of thinkin’ I was invisible because of my cloak and pipes. And I was—to the demons. Even King Coreling himself.

  But I wasn’t invisible to folk the demon corrupted. They could see me plain as day in my magic cloak, and my pipes couldn’t affect them the way they do demons. If anything, the music gave me away.

  So I sneak the regular way. Selen and Wonda ent wrong that it’s what I’m best at. I crawl the walls and ceilings with bare hands and feet, going slippery into crevices and then filling them to stick like a spider.

  Even without the stink, all I need to do is follow the worker drones carrying food down into the hive, presumably to feed the prisoners. Six-limbed and low to the ground with reticulated spines, the demons can balance and carry huge loads on their backs.

  They ent smart, though. Auras are flat as they go about their business, more like ants than farm hounds. Not worried they’ll spot me, or even that they’ll attack right away if they see me. Got to assume every demon in the hive could be eyes for Alagai Ka, though. If he tells them to, I bet the drones can turn from ants to wasps right quick.

  The tunnel slopes steeply down, branching several times. Still don’t smell Alagai Ka anywhere. Reckon he doesn’t sully himself in the larder any more than royals slop their own pigs. That’s good news if I want to get everyone out alive.

  I pull up short, freezing in place as Cavivat comes back down the tunnel. He doesn’t so much as glance upward, or acknowledge the drones filing past, save to snatch a couple baskets for himself.

  I hesitate. Should I follow the priest, or the drones presumably heading toward my friends? I choose the latter, knowing the grubby priest’s stench will linger in the air like a signpost for hours to come.

  The drones lead me to a deep pit holding several dozen people, including my friends. They look relatively unharmed, though the Jechi Hosta are holding one another and weeping, understanding at last that they ent going to live in paradise with the mountain gods.

  I see ugly whorls of pain in my friends’ auras, but nothing looks broken. Everyone is conscious, cut free of the webs that bound them. Rojvah has her electrum pen in hand, and I know she can heal anything serious.

  The drones line up, emptying the baskets into the pit, one after another. Food tumbles down to land battered and filthy on the floor, but the prisoners stampede blindly in the dark to fall on it like animals.

  Reckon I could get my friends out. Maybe. Could sneak in easy enough, give Arick back his kamanj, turn us invisible to the demons while we find a rope or something to climb out of the pit.

  But then there’ll be six of us tryin’ to sneak around, and the others can’t crawl on the ceiling or slip into crevices too small for demons.

  Long as they’re okay, maybe I should sneak a bit more on my own. Find what we came for, or a way out.

  Sack up, for once.

  Easy enough to find Cavivat. Leaves a trail of stink anyone could follow. Don’t know what life is like for a human drone, but apparently bathin’ ent part of it.

  But I want to know what he’s doin’ with those other baskets. Ent for him. I can smell everything he’s et in the last few days, and it sure ent fruits, vegetables, and bread. His diet is baser things, creatures that live in darkness, soaked in magic.

  Like me.

  We travel through a maze of tunnels. For once I stop holding back, letting my senses expand to their limits. Nothing is solid anymore, even the walls around us. All a mix of scent trails that travel anywhere there’s air. Vibrations in the stone beneath my feet. The bounce of sounds and their resonance on objects. And most of all the magic, flowing through and around everything.

  Tunnel walls become just a cloudy glass I can look through. I can see other tunnels, and the precision of their shape. I’m creepin’ through a greatward.

  Can’t follow the grubby priest too close or he’ll see me. I keep just a turn or two behind, advancing as he does until he comes to a stop in a place closer to the center of the ward.

  There’s a chamber there, but it’s opaque at this distance. Need to get closer.

  The priest ent paying any mind my way. He’s opened a chamber on one of the stone walls, and is busy emptying one of the baskets into it. Then he locks it tight and works a lever. The food tumbles down a chute and into the chamber.

  The walls are thick.

  Cavivat moves on immediately, but I linger close to that chamber, reaching out with my senses.

  The whole thing is a wardnet—walls, ceiling, and floor.

  It’s a Drain. A net made to suck magic, like a skeeter sucks blood. Even up the tunnel, I feel it tugging at the magic in my blood and suck in, toughening myself against the pull.

  I inch closer, listening. Smelling. Tasting. Feeling.

  There’s someone inside. Knew that, of course, since the priest dropped in food, but I’m starting to make them out as I get closer. A silhouette setting crisscross on the floor, chin up high, sucked in like me to keep the drain from suckin’ her dry.

  A silhouette I’d recognize anywhere.

  Mam!

  Want to run up to the chamber. To pound on the walls. To hack at them with my knife. Her knife.

  I ent stupid. This is like the Bunker, where the Warded Children would put those that et demon meat and got too drunk on magic to act responsible.