“Anturasixan?” The ship’s captain eyed him suspiciously.

“A large continent. I doubt you’ll miss it.”

“Very good, my lord.”

Tsiwen beckoned Talrisaal to her. “You would go with Wentoki to help them care for him, no?”

“It would be my pleasure.”

“And I would grant you leave to do that, if you would do something else for me first.”

The Viruk bowed. “Whatever you command, Mistress.”

She gestured. A hole opened in the blackness. A simple garden appeared, with flowers in bloom and brightly colored birds singing in the trees. Cyron recognized things, then realized memory was an artifact of his mortality. His knowing, on the other hand, came from his new office.

Talrisaal staggered. “The garden. That was my home on Virukadeen.”

“So it is again. A gift from Wentoki’s mortal brother.”

“A man did that?”

“Indeed. You might be cautious about whom you enslave in the future.”

The Viruk nodded. “Why do you show me this, Mistress?”

“This is a man’s gift to the Viruk. I show you the garden so you will go there. I wish you to be my gift to the Viruk, to welcome your people back to their home.”

Talrisaal smiled. “Those flowers, the blue ones, they made us fertile. There were no more when Virukadeen died.”

“Then I suggest, Talrisaal, you spend your time well and recover all you need to know about child rearing, for that shall no longer be a lost art among the Viruk.”

“Forever shall I praise your name, Tsiwen, and pray often for your wisdom.” Talrisaal stepped through the window. Before it closed, he bent to sniff the blue flowers and smiled.

Tsiwen smiled. “Do you approve, brother?”

“You’re wise enough to know I do.” Cyron grinned. “But now, the war. Nirati wishes it stopped. Is there a way we can do this easily?”

“Easily, no.” She took his hand in hers. “Spectacularly, oh, yes.”

TheNewWorld

4th day, Month of the Bat, Year of the Rat

First Year of the Restoration of the Imperial Court

1st Year of the Jade Dynasty

737th Year since the Cataclysm

Quunkun, South Moriande

Imperial Nalenyr

Though Kaerinus had sealed my wounds and healed the broken bones, I was in no shape to fight. My arms still ached-full healing would take time. While Ciras had killed all the kwajiin, he’d not escaped unscathed. The chances of our getting to North Moriande alive were slender at best.

Neither I nor my companions were sanguine about our chances of survival, but we’d not voiced our doubts. I staggered to my feet and Ciras gathered my swords. I glanced at Nelesquin and made no effort to hear what Jekusmirwyn was whispering in his ear. “Will he remain dead this time?”

Kaerinus nodded. “This time there is no escape. Back then he had me separate his soul and hide it in a vessel. With it removed from his body, he couldn’t be fully dragged into the Hells. I’d put it in a ruby. Others transferred it from item to item until one of the vanyesh, in honor of Nelesquin, bound it to his gilded skull.”

The magician pointed at Qiro Anturasi, who lay slumped, drooling, against the wall. “Qiro visited Tolwreen and was given the skull to bring back here. He labored under its influence and created the place where Nelesquin could be brought back to life. Neither he nor Nelesquin knew where the soul resided, however. I did not know until recently-Qiro’s own magic masked the work on the skull. I still would not have known, save that I saw it in Qiro’s trophy room.”

Ciras frowned. “Why didn’t you destroy it then?”

“It would have killed me to do so-such was the magic I’d used in the first transfer.” Kaerinus opened his hands. “I had once worked for Nelesquin, and willingly. I began to doubt him after I worked the spell and he began to murder those who took custody of his spirit after me. Then I returned to the Nine and saw what had been unleashed, but by then I could do nothing until I located the person who could kill him.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Who was that?”

“The boy, Dunos.” Kaerinus smiled.

The Gloon’s words came back to me. This mission can only be accomplished by someone who should be dead.

“You recognized how special a child he is, Virisken. He destroyed the skull. That broke the link between Qiro and Nelesquin.”

Another voice, a familiar one, spoke. “It also broke the link between Nelesquin and a fallen god, Nessagafel.”

My jaw dropped open as the man materialized before us. “Prince Cyron?”

“In part, yes.” He clapped his hands once to emphasize how he had changed. “Nelesquin somehow fell under Nessagafel’s sway. His works in the mortal realm aided Nessagafel’s campaign to upset Heaven and start creation all over again.”

“How do you know…?” That question seemed ridiculous. “Your arm?”

Cyron smiled. “There have been many changes, my friends.” He gestured and Nelesquin’s body rose in the air. “Do you mind if I borrow this?”

“If it pleases you.”

“For the moment it does.” He plucked the head from Jekusmirwyn’s bloody hands. “Thank you.”

I, like the others, bowed.

By the time I straightened up, he had left the tower and grown to the size of a giant. He soon dwarfed the largest of Nelesquin’s creatures and kept growing. Until we moved toward the portal in the north wall, all we could see was his kneecap and the black robe festooned with stars that covered him.

Cyron’s voice boomed. “Behold Nelesquin, the man who would have been Emperor.”

The corpse rested in the palm of his hand, with an arm and both legs dangling from between his fingers. We could not help but stare as the head floated above the body. Nelesquin looked like a broken toy, void of all power and pride, but suited to pity.

“He strove to upset the balance on earth, and thus sought to overthrow the reign of the gods. For any man to do thus is a crime against the Heavens, the Hells, and the mortal realm. His efforts have not pleased us. Those who supported him were deceived. Unto them no blame or guilt attains. All should realize that their own sins are known to Nirati the fox, and when they are taken, she will mete out justice in ways wonderful and terrible.

“Those who opposed Nelesquin are heroes. They have pleased us and their rewards will be in keeping with their efforts.”

Cyron, whose robe contained the circle of constellations on the breast, reached up into the sky, plunging his hand into a mass of stars between Quun and Chado. Cyron’s fingers stirred them. They blurred, then slowly resolved themselves into a new constellation-a crown. A different-color star burned on each of nine spikes to the crown, but at the brow, other stars formed an eye.

A wave of nausea twisted my guts. I looked up again. The stars on Cyron’s breast matched the Heavens. And though I thought I remembered having seen him stir the stars, even more strongly I had the impression that the stars had always been that way. In fact, the legend of the stirring of the stars was just that-forever connected with the god of the New Year’s Festival.

A woman in a robe with a bat crest caressed my brow and my confusion ebbed away. “There is value in many legends-so much so that the truth beneath them is often unimportant.”

I bowed. “Praise to thee, Tsiwen.”

The goddess of Wisdom returned the bow. “You will go to Anturasikun and rescue your companion. There you will see a map of the world. Master Dejote already knows of the Helos channel. The land north of it is being overrun by the Turasynd. You will lead an army of xidantzu, kwajiin, and Imperial soldiers to repel them. In gratitude, the kwajiin will be given Deseirion.”

“And after that?”

Tsiwen smiled. “I have found it the height of wisdom not to ask what the future holds, but to venture forth and discover it. There is a new order in Heaven, and on the earth. This does not mean, however, that the need for heroes has vanished, nor that villainy has disappeared. The new world, you will learn, has much in common with the old.”