Nothing surprised him by making a fire herself with a handful of dry needles and sticks. She knelt and coaxed the tricky fire spirits out of the earth to dance.
It was their first night alone.
A long twilight gave over into night, and beyond the ring of their fire the rain forest was complete darkness. The moon was too thin to penetrate the canopy. Besides the crackle of flames, Nothing listened to the light tapping of water as it trickled and dripped from high branches and the low call of an owl.
She sat very near to Sky, their shoulders brushing in an effort to share warmth. Though it was the end of summer and the days were warm, the damp crept into their clothes and hair, chilling skin and sinking all the way into their bones. Part of Nothing liked it, for she imagined moss growing on her bones, her teeth shining like pearls, and her hair tangled as those ragged vines. It made her feel like she belonged in the rain forest. Like she could be at home here.
In the dark, Sky’s brown eyes gleamed bluish like a demon’s. It was a very comforting light; he was as dangerous as anything in the rain forest, Nothing thought. Even more than grizzled bears or a spirit of a King-Tree. Now, if any King-Tree had died and become a demon itself, perhaps Sky would be no match for it. But Nothing supposed she could make friends with such a demon.
“Did you come exactly this way with Kirin?” she asked. It was the first full sentence she’d spoken in two days.
“No.”
Nothing expected he’d say no more, because Sky stared at the fire’s vivid blue core hard enough to burn his eyes. But then he said, “We came this direction, though not directly. Kirin liked to wander at crossroads or venture into villages to speak with people. We waited until we were at least three days from the palace, but then he wanted to be anonymous and we ate at wayfarer inns and bargained rooms for labor at farms.”
“Kirin knows how to be a farmer?” Nothing asked incredulously.
“He was my wife, and so sent me to shoulder bales of wheat and muck stables while he learned to tuck cherry dumplings and steam a perfect tea in the kitchen. Or”—Sky’s eyes crinkled in amusement—“once or twice I found him with his gown tucked between his legs, chasing babies through the garden.”
It was difficult to imagine, but Nothing liked it.
“I think he was happy,” Sky said quietly. “As happy as he’s capable of being.”
“You don’t think he can be happy?”
“He thinks too much.”
Nothing huffed. “What name did you call him?”
Sky snorted. “He told me to call him sweetheart, because he didn’t want to hear anything from my mouth but his real name.”
“That’s… romantic.”
“The first time we stayed with a farming family, I introduced him as Too Pretty for Her Own Good.”
“Was he angry?” Nothing shook her head. She never so directly disobeyed Kirin.
“He liked it,” Sky muttered.
“Was it difficult to refer to him as… her? As your wife?”
“No. That’s what he was.” Something in Sky’s posture shifted, closing, and Nothing fell silent.
In the morning they did have fresh salmon, caught in the stream. They ate it plain on the bone, and it was so soft and flaking Nothing forgot to be cranky, and skipped ahead to search for a good spot to make a tiny shrine to the stream’s spirit. She spread the delicate bones into wings against a flat boulder, giving the fish flight, and murmured a prayer to the forest and earth.
They were alone all day again, and though Nothing had thought of the most important subject they should cover, she could not bring herself to speak while the sun was up and the rain forest glittered and glowed happy green. She whistled to the birds and tickled the curling fern fronds; she patted her palm to the soft red bark of the King-Trees and waved at the heavy pink flowers dripping from vines on spreading maple and skinny hemlock trees.
She knew better than to be happy, because Kirin was in danger, and they were only passing through. But it was hard. Maybe she felt free out here because Kirin had been free too.
In the evening, once she’d coaxed two fire spirits into snapping their tails together for a spark and once Sky had baked tubers, she said, “What do you know of the Sorceress Who Eats Girls?”
“Probably the same as you.”
“Tell me anyway, for you’ve traveled and have different friends. I know only whispers, hints, and demon secrets.”
Sky snorted. “Demons might know better than anyone what the sorceress is.”
Nothing drew her knees to her chest and hugged them.
After a moment Sky said, “A sorcerer is made when a witch or a priest somehow reaches so far into the aether they are able to forge a connection to it that they then bring back into the living world with them. It is nearly impossible, and every sorcerer manages it differently. They exist between things, able to call on powers of life and death that only spirits and demons and the Queens of Heaven can touch. In order not to be consumed by their power, they must find a house, like a demon, and anchor themselves there, or bond with a great spirit. The Four Living Mountains each have a sorcerer: they are named Skybreaker, Still Wind, A Dance of Stars, and The Scale. Each is powerful, each as benevolent as he is isolated, unless one takes something of his or denies him a thing he—or one of his familiars—desires.
“A hundred and fifty years ago, the Fifth Mountain erupted, killing its spirit—or the other way around. The newborn great demon spat fire and bled lava for weeks, until the Emperor with the Moon in His Mouth sent an emissary to bargain. He offered a tribute to the demon, on recommendation of the great demon of his palace. This bought the emperor and his descendants peace with the Fifth Mountain. Then, eighty years ago, a massive storm broke around the Fifth Mountain, roiling the veins of lava deep within, arguing so loudly and long that our great demon leagues and leagues away turned over in discomfort, and a single wall cracked on each of the palace’s seven circles. When the storm dissipated, the Fifth Mountain housed a sorcerer.”
Sky paused, and Nothing’s eyes, which had sunk closed, flashed open. His low voice had lulled her nearly into leaning her head upon his shoulder. She swallowed and poked at the fire, then turned her face to press her cheek against a knee and stare at Sky.
He was scowling at the fire. His dark eyebrows drew low over his eyes, his mouth turned down, and his handsome jaw clenched in a perfect square. His breath did not shift his shoulders, but his back and stomach instead, for he’d been trained to control his body’s rhythms and breathe from his core.
Then suddenly Sky continued. “A sorcerer capable of bonding with—mastering—a great demon must be vastly powerful and vastly dangerous. The empress, Kirin’s great-grandmother, sent emissaries, but they were turned away again and again. The new sorcerer did not care for any bargain, it seemed. Everyone speculated, wondered, and moved on, waiting for some word or act to point us in a direction of action. Nothing. Nothing happened.”
Nothing smiled to herself. She hadn’t been born yet, at the time.
“More recently, just after Kirin was born, the sorcerers of the Four Living Mountains reported that great magic rumbled in the Fifth Mountain, and storms assailed the whole northwest of the empire, but the sorcerers were turned away when they inquired. Then a girl disappeared from a village at the foot of the Fifth Mountain. Another, several months later, who’d been fishing eels in the Selegan. Girls disappeared again and again, at first all from that area, soon from across the empire. But the Fifth Mountain allowed no access to its sorcerer or its secrets. Then, eleven years ago, a unicorn walked into the palace and directly up through the circles until it stood in the court and spoke to the Empress with the Moon in Her Mouth. I was not there, nor were you, but Kirin was. He remembers the trilling voice and the smell of the sea, the pearlescent, twisted horn curving like a young moon off its forehead and long nose. He remembers the pretty clicks of its delicate cloven hooves and the threads of starlight woven into its mane and the casual flick of its tail.”