Save for a single narrow column, the rift’s edge had eroded. Keles sat hunched on it and the Viruk crouched over him, steadying him. Ciras couldn’t tell if Keles were alive or dead, and Rekarafi might as well have been a statue.

Then, finally, the rear guard started the journey across and Ciras with them. The track they traveled twisted back and forth, torturously and treacherously steep at points. The different shades of the earthen layers and the different scents surprised him. Likewise did the itching of his flesh as he descended.

Before he ascended the other side, Rekarafi caught up with him, bearing a limp Keles. Tyressa covered a look of horror quickly and raced on to prepare a litter for Keles.

The swordsman’s eyes narrowed. “He’s not dead, is he?”

The Viruk shook his head. “Exhausted. Imagine growing a forest. The work of a lifetime in one night.”

Ciras shivered. “It would be like fighting a war forever.”

“This is a conclusion you can test, Master Dejote. When Nelesquin lays siege to Moriande, it will seem as if you’ve been fighting him for all time.”

TheNewWorld

12th day, Month of the Eagle, Year of the Rat

Last Year of Imperial Prince Cyron’s Court

163rd Year of the Komyr Dynasty

737th Year since the Cataclysm

Anturasikun, Moriande

Nalenyr

Keles Anturasi awoke with a start and was determined to stay awake. For too long consciousness had come in lightning strikes of brilliant clarity etched in pain, such that he surrendered to the sweet comfort of oblivion. Despite Tyressa’s ministrations, exhaustion had refused to surrender its hold on him.

His work at the rift had stripped him of any human identity. He wondered why he’d been stripped of bark. He had no leaves to shade and feed him, no roots to seek moisture. His limbs had been pruned back to a paltry four. He had no words, because trees cared not for words, only wind-songs. And things seemed to be moving very quickly, too quickly. Even he was moving, and somehow that was not possible.

But, slowly, enough people said the word “Keles” that he came to associate it with himself. That realization unlocked dreams and they, in turn, led him back to himself.

That said, awakening in Anturasikun shocked him. The place felt right, and that made it feel alien. The person he was now had never been there before. He recognized everything and its presence pleased him, but he could not shake off a feeling of lurking menace.

He threw off the blanket and cool night air puckered his naked flesh. He glanced down at his feet, half-expecting to see rootlets, but they only ended in toes. His bandaged hands and fingers had no leaves attached. He smiled as if it were all a fading dream.

“Keles, don’t try to get out of that bed.”

The voice came from the chair by the door. His mother smiled and came around to the side. She poured him a cup of water, then supported his head as she helped him drink. “Slowly, slowly. How do you feel?”

Keles just nodded, then pushed the cup away with one hand. Water rolled off his lower lips and sank through several days’ growth of beard. He swiped at it with his hand, then looked at her. “Are you real?”

Siatsi Anturasi smiled, and her violet eyes sparkled. “I am real. You are back in Moriande. Geselkir has seen you. Your bones will heal, he says.”

“There’s more?”

She nodded. “There is news, Keles, and it is not good.”

Keles slid back on the mattress and leaned against the headboard. “Tell me.”

“Your grandfather is missing. We don’t know where.”

Keles nodded slowly. He’d seen Qiro not a month ago. Was that a dream, too? Keles looked at his mother and finally noticed she was wearing a white mourning robe. “That’s not why you are wearing white.”

“No. Majiata is dead. Murdered. She died shortly after you left Moriande.”

A jolt shook Keles. He and Majiata had been engaged. He had loved her. She’d loved the access to Anturasi maps and charts that their marriage would give her family. Their breakup had been less than amicable, and Keles had been happy to leave Moriande shortly thereafter. That seemed so long ago. So many things have changed.

“Keles, you have to listen to me. The murderer also killed your sister. Nirati is dead.”

“No, she’s not, Mother.”

“Geselkir was right. It was too soon to tell you.”

“No, Mother, I have seen Nirati.”

Siatsi’s eyes narrowed warily. “Keles, I washed her body. I stitched it back together. I wrapped her in silk and lit the pyre myself. Nirati is gone.”

Keles reached up and brushed the tear from his mother’s cheek. “She is alive, Mother. She is well. She is my twin; I would know if she was dead. I’ve seen Grandfather, too.”

“But…”

Keles shook his head slowly. “I have a link with him. He is out there.” He hesitated for a moment, then concentrated. The same linkage of roots he had used to make the trees grow came back to him, and he felt his grandfather’s presence. “He has come closer than before. There is something wrong with him. Worse than before.”

“Keles, this can’t be.”

“Mother, it has to be. If it is not, then I am insane.” His hazel eyes widened. “Have they told you what I’ve done?”

She looked away. “I didn’t want to believe them.”

“It is jaedun, Mother, not xingna. It’s not evil.”

“I know.” Siatsi pulled the sheet up and wrapped it around him. “Come to the window.”

Keles got out of bed unsteadily and leaned heavily on her arm. “Uncle Ulan is quicker than I am.”

“Only for a little while.” She smiled and guided him to the window. She reached for the latch. “I had heard, but I did not want to believe. Then I had no choice.”

She unlatched the window and pushed the panel out and up. Or she tried to. Thick green vines tugged at the edges of the frame. The sweet scent of flowers came through the narrow opening. Keles even caught sight of a thick, green vegetable dangling from a vine.

He looked at her. “That’s tzaden. It doesn’t grow this high. And it can’t be flowering if it’s already borne fruit.”

“But it has, in the two days since you’ve been here. It only grew this high on this side of the tower. It bore fruit. It’s good for restoring health and building stamina.” She shook her head. “It is as if the plant itself wants to get to you.”

“But you are a bhotridina. You understand plants. You must have helped.”

“No, Keles. In fact, I cut some of it back.” She tugged to close the window. “I cannot explain this. Nor can I explain how you made the trees grow, or rebuilt the fortress or changed the people.”

Keles leaned against the wall and clutched the sheet around himself. “But there have to be stories of jaecaibhot who have made plants grow faster.”

“There are, but not at the rate you have.” She caressed his cheek. “And think what you are saying: that you have become a Mystic with plants, a Mystic at building, a Mystic at, what, healing? No one has ever mastered so many things.”

“No one outside the vanyesh.” He’d said it aloud. He’d admitted to himself what the Helosundians had feared. He’d become one of the monsters capable of destroying the world. The realization surprised him, but his reaction to it surprised him more.

Half of him expected a wave of evil to wash over him, as if acknowledgment of his power would instantly corrupt him. The other part of him wanted to protest his innocence, so his mother could look at him without suspicion or fear. For eons the vanyesh had been defined as evil incarnate; and his mother-like every other right-thinking person-was afraid of their return.

He levered himself off the wall and stood as straight as he could. “Mother, I am not vanyesh. I do touch magic; there is no denying that. But I begin to understand what I am doing. When you use your knowledge of plants to prepare a tincture or elixir, your goal is to help someone by restoring them to a normal state, yes?”