PROLOGUE (11 page)

She walked cautiously into the fog. In five steps she was blind. She could not even see where the rope left the fog. She could not see her hands held out in front of her face, although blue flashed from her finger: the lapis lazuli ring given to her by Alain which, he had promised her, would protect her from evil.

She wasn't sure what to expect: the edge of an abyss? A barricade? A dead land drowned in cloying mist?

In another five steps, she walked out onto a ridgeline. At her back drifted the wall of fog. Right in front of her grew a dense tangle of thorny shrubs. As she jerked sideways to avoid them, her trailing hand brushed a thorn. A line of red welled up on her skin. She stuck the scrape to her mouth and sucked. A serpent hissed at her from the shelter of the thornbush and she sidled away slowly as superstitious dread clutched at her heart.

"Even a single drop of your blood on the parched earth will waken things better left sleeping,"
the old sorcerer had said,
"and every soul left in this land will know that you are here."

The bleeding subsided, the serpent slithered away deeper into the thorns, but her thoughts continued to scatter and drop.

He meant to keep her a secret. But whether he thought she was a threat to his people, or they to her, she could not tell. As the salty tang of blood mixed with saliva on her tongue, she wondered what would happen when her monthly courses came in another hand's span of days, or if they even would, without the influence of the moon upon her body.

Wind stirred the rope hanging loose behind her. The sun beat down, hot and heavy, on her back. The fog had led her not to the end of the world but simply to an unknown place not markedly different from the highland forest.

She stood at the edge of a plunging hillside. A broad valley ringed by highlands opened before her. On the far side of the valley's bowl rose a saw-toothed mountain range. High peaks, denuded of snow, towered above the wide valley. A road ran along the valley floor below her, leading into a magnificent city that spanned a dried-up lakebed. It was the largest conglomeration of buildings she had ever seen, greater even than the imperial city of Darre. From this vantage point, and through air so clear that she could see the ridgelines in each of the distant peaks, she traced the city's layout as though it were an architect's study rolled out on a table.

Plazas, pyramids, and platforms, great courtyards flanked by marketplaces, houses arranged like flowers around rectangular pools, all of these were linked together by sludge-ridden waterways that had once, perhaps, been canals. Tiered stone gardens and islets lay desolate, furrowed by untended fields. Bridges spanned inlets and narrow straits that divided the island city into districts. Three causeways stretched across the dead lakebed, marking roads into the city.

Bleached like bone, the buildings had been laid out in an arrangement so harmonious that she wondered whether the city had been built to conform to the lake's shallows and bays, or the lake dug and shaped to enhance the city. From this distance the city appeared deserted, empty buildings set in a vast wasteland of drained, cracking ground.

At that moment, she became aware of a solitary figure moving slowly along the road below her. It halted, suddenly, and turned as if it had felt her breath on its neck, although she stood far beyond any normal range of hearing. Its hand raised, beckoning to her, or gesturing with a curse.

The ground lurched under her feet. Stumbling backward, she pulled the rope in tight as she forged back into the fog. White swam around her, static and empty. Her foot hit a rock, and she reeled sideways, found herself up to her thighs in water. Salt spray stung her lips. Waves soughed on a pebbly shoreline, sucking and sighing over the rocks. Grassy dunes humped up beyond the

beach. A gull screamed. Turning, she tugged hard on the rope and reeled herself in, one fist at a time, through the blinding fog.

When she staggered out onto the hillside, the watchtower rose before her and she fell to her knees in relief, gasping hard. Water puddled out from her soaked leggings, absorbed quickly into the parched soil.

"You are a fool, Eldest Uncle," said a woman's harsh voice.” You know the stories. They cannot help themselves. Already she has broken the small limits you set upon her. Already she gathers intelligence for her own kind, which they will use against us."

The old sorcerer had a curt laugh. Although he was not a cynic, certainly he was not patient with anything he considered nonsense; this much she had learned about him in their short time together.” How can they use the knowledge of the borders against us, White Feather? There is but one human standing here among us. None but she has crossed through the gateways in all this time. Why do you suppose others intend to? Nay, she is alone, as I have told you. She is an outcast from her own kind."

"So she would have you believe."

"You are too suspicious."

"Should I not be suspicious of humankind? You are too trusting, Eldest Uncle. It was those of our people who trusted humankind who laid down the path that brought us here. Had we not taught human magicians our secrets, they would not have gained the power to strike against us as they did."

"Nay." Liath saw them now, standing on her favorite ledge halfway up the ruined watchtower, looking down upon her like nobles passing judgment on their followers.” It was the
shana-ret'i-eri
who corrupted humankind, not us."

"They would have overwhelmed us no matter what we had done," agreed the woman. She wore a plain linen cloak, yellowed with age, that draped over her right shoulder and lapped her knees. Underneath, she wore a shift patterned with red lozenges and dots. A strap bound her brow; at the back, where her hair fell freely down her back, the strap had been ornamented with a small shield of white feathers. A heavy jade ring pierced her nose.” Humankind breeds offspring like to the mice, and disease in the manner of flies. We cannot trust them. You must bring her along to the council ground. The council will pass judgment."

With that, she vanished from Liath's view, climbing back down the ruined watchtower. The old sorcerer clambered down as well, appearing at the base of the tower, although White Feather was not with him. Liath rose to shake water out of her soaked leggings.

"She doesn't trust me," Liath said, surprised at the intensity of the woman's emotions.” I don't think she liked me either. Is that the kind of judgment the council will pass? J see no point in standing before them if they're just going to condemn me."

"Not even I, who am eldest here, the only one left who remembers the great cataclysm, knows what judgment the council will pass."

"How can you remember the great cataclysm? If the calculations of the Seven Sleepers are correct, then that cataclysm took place over two thousand and seven hundred years ago, as humankind measures time. No one can be that old."

"Nor am I that old, as humankind measures years. The measure of days and years moves differently here than there. I know what I lived through. What has passed in the world of my birth in the intervening time I have seen only in glimpses. I know only that humankind has overrun all of the land, as we feared they would."

None of this made much sense to Liath.” What of the burning stone, then?" She would not make the same mistake she had made with the Seven Sleepers, to wait with resigned patience as they taught her in spirals that never quite got to the heart of what she needed to learn.” If it's a gateway between my world and this one, can you call it at will? Might it be better for me to escape back to Earth rather than stand before the council?"

He considered her words gravely before replying.” The burning stone is not ours to call. It appears at intervals dictated by those fluxes that disturb the fabric of the universe. It is the remnant of the great spell worked on us by your ancestors, although I do not suppose that they meant it to appear. But a few among us have learned how to manipulate it when it does appear."

"How might I do so?"

"Learn to call the power of the stars, and the power that lies in the heart of every object. The first you have some knowledge of, I think. The second is not a discipline known to humankind." He paused to smile wryly. He had faint scars around his mouth and others on the lobes of his ears, on his hands, and even a few mark ing his heels with old white scar lines.” You must not fear the power of blood, which binds all things. You must learn to use it, even when it causes pain. I do not think you should retreat. It is rarely wise to run."

That Anne considered this ancient sorcerer and all his kind the sworn enemy of humankind, and of her own cause, inclined Liath to take their part. But in the end it was his words that swayed her. How different he sounded from Da, who had always found it prudent to run. Who had taught her to run.

"I'll go with you to the council," she said finally.

"Heh." The grunt folded into that curt laugh which seemed to encompass all he knew of amusement.” So you will. Do not think I am unaware of the honor you give to me by granting me your trust. It has been a long time since any of your kind have trusted mine."

"Or your kind, mine," she retorted. The tart answer pleased him. He liked a challenge, and didn't mind sharp questions.

"Get what you need, then."

"I've everything I came with."

He waited while she coiled the rope.

"It's well made." The praise warmed her, but she only smiled. He had little enough on his own person for their journey. She had finally gotten used to his clothing, the beaded loincloth, the decorated arm and leg sheaths, and the topknot made of his black hair, ornamented by feathers. He was more wiry than skinny, although he did not look one bit well fed. He took the coiled rope from her and slung it over a shoulder before fishing out an arrow from her quiver. As always, he fondled the iron point for a moment, his expression distant.

"I fear what your kinfolk have become," he said at random, "to make arms such as this arrow, and that sword." But he only offered her the fletched end of the arrow to hold.” Grasp this. Do not let go as we walk into the borderlands."

"Shouldn't we tie ourselves to the tree? What if we fall off the edge? You said yourself that this fog marks the edge of your lands."

He chuckled.” A worthy idea, and a cautious plan that speaks well of you. But there is no danger in the borderlands. We are prisoners in our own land, because all the borders fold back on themselves."

"Except through the burning stone."

"Even so." He led her into the fog.

"Where are we going?" she called, but the mist deadened all sound. She could not even see him, a step ahead of her, only knew he was there by the pull of the arrow's shaft against her palm.

He knew where he was going. In six steps she stumbled onto a stone step, bruising her shin. She stood on a staircase lined by monsters' heads, each one carved so that it seemed to be emerging from a stone flower that bore twelve petals. The monster was the head of a snake, or that of a big, sleek cat with a toothy yawn, or some melding of the two: she couldn't tell which. Some had been painted red and white while others had golden-brown dapplings and succulent green tongues, lacy black curling ears or gold-petaled flowers rayed out from their circular eyes. On either side of the staircase lay the broad expanse of a vast pyramidal structure, too steep to climb, that had simply been painted a blinding white, as stark as the fog. Here and there, paint had chipped away to reveal gray stone beneath.

She followed the old sorcerer up the steps. Despite everything, this staircase up which they toiled nagged at her. It seemed familiar, like a whispered name calling from her memory.

They walked up out of the fog on a steep incline, surrounded by those ghastly, powerful faces. The stair steps went on, and on, and on, until she had to stop to catch her breath. She unsealed the water jug and sipped, cooling her parched throat, but when she offered the jug to the old sorcerer, he declined. He waited patiently for her to finally get up and go again. At last, they came to the top of the pyramid.

At her back, below and beyond, lay the dense bank of fog. Before her lay another city, somewhat smaller than the magnificent city by the lake but no less impressive for its courtyards and platforms laid out in tidy harmony. An avenue lined by buildings marched out from the plaza that lay at the base of the huge pyramid they now stood on. Every stone surface was painted with bright murals: giant spotted yellow cats, black eagles, golden phoenix, burning arrows clutched in the jaws of red snakes crowned by feathered headdresses. The city lay alive with color

and yet was so quiet that she expected ghosts to skirl down its broad avenues, weeping and moaning.

Wind brushed her. Clouds boiled over the hills that marked the distant outskirts of the city, and she saw lightning. Thunder boomed, but no rain fell. She couldn't even smell rain, only dust on the wind and a creeping shiver on her skin. Her hair rose on the nape of her neck.