With the sky clouded over, he couldn't navigate as he had in recent nights, nor could he see as well. He tried to keep Trey on a straight path toward what he thought was east. Eventually the moons would rise, and even through the clouds he'd be able to see their glow. Then he'd be certain. "The moons won't be up tonight."

He reined Trey to a halt and looked around wildly, his pulse abruptly racing.

"Who said that?" he called.

He saw no one, and when he received no answer he started to wonder if he'd been imagining things. Maybe he'd spoken the words himself without realizing it. It did occur to him now that it must have been late in the waning.

This might well be Pitch Night, the last of the turn, when neither moon would rise.

If so, the morning would bring a new turn-the Celebration Moon, the last turn of the moons of this year.

Torgan looked around for another moment before clicking his tongue at Trey. The beast started forward once more.

"If tomorrow begins the Celebration Moon, then what does that make tonight?"

Torgan stopped again, his hands shaking.

"Who's there?" he shouted. He tried to sound angry, but even he could hear the fright in his voice.

"A friend," came the reply. And then laughter. Not of one voice, but of dozens.

Had the Fal'Borna found him? Was he surrounded by warriors here in the dark of the plain?

He considered spurring his horse to a gallop in an attempt to get away. He couldn't ride as well as the Fal'Borna, but Trey was a strong animal and had been trained by the clanspeople. It might work.

"You can't escape us."

Three times the voice had done that, but only now did Torgan take note. They were reading his thoughts. Yes, it had to be the Qirsi. Who else could do that?

"Let me show you."

Suddenly the grass around him seemed to be gleaming, as if some magical mist were rising from the ground. At first the light was soft, silvery, diffuse, like Panya's glow seeping through clouds on a hazy Planting night. But it hardened quickly, growing brighter, taking form.

Wraiths. A horde of them.

And at the fore, surrounded by men and women who clearly were Qirsi, their long white hair radiant, nearly blinding, stood Jasha Ziffel. His eyes glittered like white gems and his head was tilted to the side, as if he were a child asking a question of his father.

The wraith gestured at his neck. "You did this," he said.

Torgan shook his head. "I'm dreaming. You're not real."

"You've forgotten what day it is, Torgan. You've forgotten your moon lore."

The realization stole his breath. If the turn of the Celebration Moon began with the morrow, then this was Pitch Night of the Memory Moon. Some in the north and beyond the Border Mountains in the Forelands called it Bian's Moon. The dead walked the land this night. The wronged dead. They haunted those who had caused their deaths or tormented them during their lives.

He should have expected to see Jasha, and Grinsa and Q'Daer as well. But who were these others?

"What are these people doing here with you?" Torgan narrowed his eyes. "Are they from S'Plaed's sept? Or C'Bijor's Neck? I didn't do anything wrong to them! At that point I didn't know that the baskets were cursed!"

"They're not from S'Plaed's sept or the Neck," Jasha's wraith said. "They're from Q'Rohn's sept."

Torgan frowned. "I've never-"

"Three nights ago," one of the Qirsi said, his voice like an icy wind. "You poisoned our grain, spread the plague through our village. Twenty-seven died. We're fortunate it wasn't more."

Torgan said nothing. He sat his mount, staring at the dead-at his dead-until at last his gaze came to rest once more on Jasha.

"Where are the two white-hairs? The Forelander and the Fal'Borna?" Jasha shrugged. "They're not dead."

"What? That's impossible! I gave them the plague. Q'Daer was dying. Grinsa was starting to get sick. I saw them!"

"They're not dead," the wraith said again, with maddening equanimity.

It made no sense. They had to be dead. But clearly they weren't here.

"So what is it you want of me?" Torgan asked. He glanced at the Fal'Borna wraiths again, but quickly turned back to Jasha. For some reason he couldn't bring himself to look into the eyes of those other dead. For better or worse, he had known Jasha. For a brief time they might even have been friends, although he wasn't sure that the young merchant-

"We were never friends," Jasha said coldly. "I don't think you've ever had a friend."

"Stop doing that," Torgan said.

"Doing what?"

"You know full well what I mean! Stop reading my thoughts!" A terrible grin spread across the wraith's face. "No," he said.

"I don't care what you do," Torgan said. He flicked the reins and Trey started forward again. The creature seemed perfectly calm. If the wraiths bothered him, he showed no sign of it.

"He can't see us. Only you can."

Torgan ignored him, staring straight ahead. He knew better than to think that the ghosts would leave him alone. But if they were going to haunt him throughout the night, he could at least cover some ground at the same time.

"What do you know about wraiths, Torgan?" Jasha asked him. "What do you know about this night?"

Torgan refused to answer. The young merchant seemed to be floating along with him, as did the wraiths of the Fal'Borna. They didn't appear to be moving, yet they kept pace with Trey. In fact, they appeared to be coming closer, pressing in on him.

"Do you know that if you touch us, you'll cross over into the god's realm and be lost forever to the world of the living? Do you know that you don't even have to mean to touch us? It can just be an accident. A chance encounter."

The other wraiths laughed.

"Leave me alone," Torgan said.

Their laughter grew, and immediately Torgan wished that he'd kept silent.

"Leave you alone?" Jasha repeated, sounding delighted, as if Torgan had just shared a joke. "That's the last thing we want to do! There's so much each of us wants to say to you. One night is hardly enough."

Torgan clamped his mouth shut, determined not to say anything more to any of them.

Still the glowing figures closed in on him, eyeing him hungrily. Torgan tried to ignore them, but he couldn't help but wonder if what Jasha told him was true. Would he die if he touched one of them? Could the wraiths make him touch them? Could they kill him, in effect, by giving him no choice but to touch them?

"Of course it's true," Jasha said. "The dead cannot lie, Torgan. Bian forbids it. Isn't that ironic? The god known as the Deceiver demands the truth of all who dwell in his realm." The young merchant leered at him. "Do you know what else? Since we can read your thoughts, you can't lie to us, either. All those times you lied to me when I was alive; the way you deceived all of us at the end, when you sickened Grinsa and Q'Daer. And now that I'm dead I can finally have an honest conversation with you." He shook his head. "Don't you find that funny?"

Suddenly Jasha swung his fist at Torgan's face, making the merchant jerk away.

"I asked you if you thought that was funny," the wraith demanded, his voice so hard and cold that it could have been the god himself asking the question.

"No!" Torgan said. "I don't find any of this funny."

Jasha shook his head, grinning again. "No, I don't suppose you do. Aren't you going to beg for our forgiveness, Torgan?"

"Would it do me any good?"

Jasha laughed, a terrible sound, like boulders grinding against one another. "Now that's the Torgan Plye I know. Always looking to make that profit." He laughed again, then shook his glowing head. "No, Torgan. It wouldn't do you any good at all."

The moment he said this, two of the Fal'Borna wraiths broke away from the others, soaring up into the night sky, wheeling like hawks, and diving straight at Torgan's face.