“Run,” I whisper.
“What?” North blinks at me, then follows my gaze. “I don’t—”
“Run! Now!” I gesture with my spearstaff, and the bindle cat leads the way as I break into a run. Behind me, I can hear the grass rustling as North follows. Dubious he may be about the dangers of the mist, but evidently he’s not willing to take his chances alone.
I’m already exhausted, and my muscles begin to burn and my head spin in protest after only a few moments. North must be hurting even more, unused to this world as he is. But as the thought of slowing my pace pops into my head, a whirl of mist stretches down out of the clouds like a grasping arm. Spindly fingers clutch at the earth not far from where we were a few moments ago, with a series of earsplitting cracks and squeals as the stone rearranges itself, twisted into spires as if reaching back toward the clouds.
North chokes out something that must be an oath in his world, and puts on a burst of speed that brings him up beside me. “Can’t keep this up,” he manages over the howling of the storm as it gathers the funnel back into itself and races along behind us. “How …”
“There,” I gasp, not bothering to gesture—the place is obvious, the only shelter visible on the plains. It’s the heart of this fallen city, and there are ways inside some of the rubble-formed hills. I know because I came here often in my childhood, when it was still safe to travel.
I can’t stop to look at his face, but North’s silence tells me he’s dubious about how well the ruins will shelter us. I wish I felt as certain as I sounded.
We reach the bottom of one of the hummocks just as the storm begins to darken the sky directly above us, purpling now with its intensity. I lead North around it and between two other hills, where an uneven gash of shadow stretches across a long, uniform rise. Pointing with my spearstaff, I shout, “Inside—quick!”
He dives into the darkness, scrambling on his knees to make room for me to follow. Every hair on my body is standing on end, and I can taste the mist—or its power—like bitter, burned caramel on my tongue. Still, I wait a moment longer. Better to be mist-touched than to bump into North in the dark.
I drop to my knees and crawl in after him, and then the storm is upon us, howling furiously past the entrance.
I can hear North’s harsh breathing, but I can see little in the sudden gloom.
The dark shadow that is the bindle cat is pressed in against North at the back of the recess, identifiable by the faint glitter of his eyes, round as the twin moons. North’s quavering breath tells me he must be nearly as shaken.
“A-are you all right?” he asks, his form shifting in the dark. “Are we safe here?”
“Yes.” My voice shakes, so I leave him with that one answer to both questions until I’m sure I can speak without scaring him further. My eyes, adjusting to the dark, find his outline against the stone.
“How is anyone still alive down here?” North murmurs, running an unsteady hand through his hair. “Everything about this place is trying to kill us!”
The mist-storm, the cultists, the mist-bent boar … Was it only hours ago that I sent those creatures scrambling? My head spins, and I draw up my knees so I can rest my forehead against them.
“You have had an unusually difficult welcome,” I whisper back, as if the mist-storm might hear.
North’s breath hitches as though he’d laugh if he weren’t so winded. “Can you make your staff glow again? One of your … light spells?” He says the words rather dubiously.
A flicker of irritation makes me long to retort, You can’t scoff at magic and then turn around and ask me to use it.
Instead, I take a breath and lay a hand on the stone wall, despite how the feel of it makes my skin crawl. “I cannot in this place. There is too much sky-steel in these stones. It protects us from the mist, but it renders me …”
Helpless.
“Ordinary.”
North makes a skeptical little sound in his throat. “So there are rules, then? For this magic you can do?”
Though his voice is kind enough, the words he chooses are clear. “Why do you ask me questions if you believe I am lying to you?”
He hesitates. “It’s not that I think you’re lying. I just wonder if what you call magic is just science by another name.”
“I could show you the fireseed, speak the invocation, let you see the spell fail because of the sky-steel—would that convince you?”
North’s breath comes out in a long sigh. “I’ve offended you—I’m sorry.” I can hear him moving, a rustle of fabric on stone, and then without any warning at all, a dim blue glow illuminates his face.
I jerk back in surprise, my shoulder blades hitting the wall of the tunnel. “How …” My head spins, and not just from the presence of so much sky-steel inhibiting my powers. “You—you can use magic?” And use it here, surrounded by the one thing that renders all magic inert.
North’s gaze flicks up, brow furrowed—then his eyes widen in surprise. “Magic? No—science, like I said. Technology, see?” He lifts his arm, showing me a round, glowing panel affixed to a bracelet. “It’s called a chrono—a chronometer. Everyone has them up in Alciel. In the cloudlands.”
My heart thuds against my ribs. “A power strong enough to work despite the sky-steel?”
“It’s not power,” he says, “not like you mean it. It’s got a battery.”
“And what does the battery do?”
“It …” He lets out a soft huff, and sounds like he wants to laugh. “Well, it provides power to the light. It stores the power, then lets it out as needed.”
“It sounds very much like an instrument of magic to me,” I tell him, running my fingertips over the charms ringing the blade end of my spearstaff, each one as familiar to my touch as anything in this world.
“What are those?” he asks softly.
“These are my udjet,” I say, studying them by the blue glow of North’s light. “They are charms, my own instruments of magic. I do not think you would understand.”
“Do they represent elements?” North guesses. “Or maybe different gods you pray to? Or are they like the things in those pouches you wear, ingredients for different spells?”
“Magic requires a tranquil mind,” I say. “Harmony with your thoughts. To be that still, you must know who you are—all of you. A magician’s udjet … it’s an ancient word for soul. They remind me of who I am.”
North smiles tentatively. “I like that.” He looks at the charms again, reaching out to indicate one of them. “Tell me about this one.”
“From a pilgrimage I made to Intisuyu, the sun lands, when I was a little girl.” It was just after I was called as the living divine, but I do not say this aloud. “I found the stone among the ruins, and Daoman, my … my guardian, had it polished and wrapped with silver to hang as a charm.”
“And this one? I think I can guess what this one’s about.”
I inspect the little gold figurine of a seated cat resting on his fingertips. “He has been my companion most of my life,” I say. “He is a part of who I am.”