a landscape of burning sand. A lion with the torso and face of a woman rears above her, raking with its claws as the girl screams, only it is not herself she sees but a young woman as dark of complexion as she is. A silver-haired man leaps into the fray, thrusting a burning torch between sphinx and bleeding girl. As he spins, panting, he sees her and cries out
“Liathano! Where are you?” The centaur shaman walks on the shore of a shallow river that snakes away through grassland
but the bright currents drag her away. She drowns, yet at the same time the aether feeds her as it feeds all that is elemental.
She stirred at intervals, sometimes finding food and drink waiting for her although she barely recalled eating and drinking; the threads of aether nourish her; it is all the food she needs. Other times she woke hoping to see the stars, but the haze never lifted and it was ungodly warm.
Thoughts emerged with unexpected clarity.
I should have looked for him at nightfall with Eagle’s Sight.
Land displaces water of equal volume.
Did all the Seven Sleepers die, or did some survive?
If the thread that bound the Ashioi land to Earth is severed, then is the aetherical realm closed to us? Is the mage’s ladder gone? Is my mother’s home lost to me now? Where does the aether come from that is woven around the Earth? Is it constantly replenished or will it fade? Is there less of aether in the world now that the gateway is closed?
At nightfall, with Eagle’s Sight, Hathui seeks in the fire, but sees only fragments, glimpses of fractured sight shot through with flames and shadow.
Sleep claimed her, and her thoughts, and what coiled in her heart and mind dissolved into dreams so finely spun that each filament frayed away into nothing, all a hazy white drift of ash spreading in all directions over pale dunes that had neither beginning nor end, only desolation.
“Will she die? She’s been like this since I left. That was five days ago!”
“I think she will not die. She’s not wasting away. The substance that knits together the universe feeds her. It is invisible to us because it exists beyond our five senses. Remember that she walked the spheres and crossed through the burning stone, and what else after that I do not know, but we can imagine it was no easy task. Now she is paying the price.”
“What if Cat Mask comes? He has gathered his warriors. He’s made his peace with Lizard Mask, and they are making their plans, wondering when humankind will attack us.”
“Cat Mask does not scare me, White Feather. Return to Feather Cloak. I will come when I can.”
“Feather Cloak cannot delay the council any longer. If you do not walk back with me now, I will have to tell her you are not coming. The council will speak without your voice.”
“I will not leave her until she is strong enough to fend for herself.”
“Does no one look for her, Uncle? Has she no family?”
“She has her husband, but how can we know whether he lives or is dead? I have stood many mornings at the edge of the desolation to the north, beyond the White Road.”
“A wasteland worthy of He-Who-Burns! It is a terrible sight.”
“I do not know how far the destruction extends. I do not know who and what has survived or if they can even reach here, or will attempt it.”
“Then perhaps we will have less fighting to do! It would serve humankind very well if their sorcery hurt themselves worst of all in the end.”
“I am thinking we have all suffered, and will continue so. This weather makes me uneasy. We should see the sun.”
“Should we? Does the sun often shine? It was always like this before.”
“Because it was ‘like this’ when we journeyed in the aether, the land died. So will it now without rain and sun. These are not natural clouds. I remember what it was like when I was a young man. It was not like this. We saw both rain and sun.”
“All this I will tell Feather Cloak. But if you will not accompany me, Eldest Uncle, then you must not complain if Cat Mask’s views are accepted by the others simply because he talks the loudest and puffs up his manly chest.”
A chuckle. “I trust you, White Feather, not to be dazzled by his words. Or his chest. Is there still no sign of my daughter?”
“A small sign. Scouting groups have walked the coastline and brought news of many strange things washed up on the shore. On the western coast about a day’s walk from here, this green wing feather was found among the rocks. Do you recognize it?”
“Ah! Ah! Yes. It is the color of her eyes. This is surely the one I gave to her when she gained her woman’s power. I cannot believe she would have discarded it so carelessly.”