A hundred men fell from the sky, crashing into the fields of Nere Grem like the end of a meteor shower—only bloodier and far more confusing. Hamis and his friends gaped at the sight as more bodies kept raining down.

  Amid the stunned visitors stood two men, one of whom Hamis had met long ago on San Grem and had never seen since. He wore a straw hat and carried a long staff. His tunic was whiter than most, and the visible part of his braided hair was a mix of grey and black. He was Madasa—the former Gaverian, and Eden’s old friend.

  The other man carried himself like a commander. He had the height and muscles of a seasoned warrior, his sleeveless shirt revealing thick silver bands circling his upper arms.

  “Hamis Deus,” said Madasa without turning around, “I hope you’re enjoying the view. This is what’s become of my little homeland. Gamaki, this is the boy you’ve heard so much about lately.”

  “Edenson?” asked the larger man, Gamaki. He rested his hands on his hips and turned to study Hamis. A broad smile spread across his face. “Welcome to Nere Grem, Edenson.”

  “Thank you?” said Hamis, watching another body crash into the field.

  “I see you brought someone with you,” said Madasa. “Is that Dasu?”

  “It is,” replied Dasu, bowing slightly. “Please, receive us kindly.”

  “Too late for that, my prince,” said Madasa, beginning to move. “There’s a pressing matter you and your friend have just stumbled into. I suppose Hamis came seeking our chief—follow us, then, but I’ll warn you: it won’t do much good.”

  “I’m here too, Sir,” Olande blurted out. “It’s not just Hamis and Dasu.”

  Madasa stopped and tilted his head, as if listening. “Ah, yes—Olande, is it? My apologies. Surrounded by your friends, I couldn’t sense your essence.”

  Hamis nudged Olande in the ribs, earning a half-hearted shove in return. They followed Gamaki and Madasa through the town of Nere Grem, which, to Hamis’s surprise, was nothing like Hillbrook or San Grem.

  The streets were paved, and the houses bore numbered addresses. Signposts pointed neatly to the different quarters of the island. Though most of Nere Grem was still covered in fields, any visitor passing through its town would leave with a very different impression from one who did not.

  Questions tickled Hamis’ mind with every step. They had just crossed the body of a man—clearly a warrior like Gamaki—his blood threading into the lines between the pavement blocks.

  Where was everybody? They had passed houses, shops, and little parks with benches, yet not a soul stirred. The whole town seemed to have vanished.

  He wasn’t the only one unsettled. Olande gripped his traveller’s bag tighter the deeper they went. Dasu kept rubbing his thumb over his ring, scanning the empty street from the corners of his eyes.

  For Hamis, it was the silence. It didn’t feel natural. Footsteps shouldn’t sound this loud.

  “We’re here,” said Madasa suddenly. He stood before a set of double wooden doors and rapped on them with his staff. The doors clicked open at once.

  Hamis stepped back, stealing a glance inside. Nothing seemed unusual—just another inn, perhaps. But by the time he looked again, the others had already gone in. Gamaki beckoned him forward, and Hamis followed.

  Cold. Quiet. The air smelled of lavender and something sweeter still. It calmed him, though he didn’t know why.

  The darkness began to play tricks. It revealed fragments of the place in flashes—stairs spiralling into shadow, a chandelier of dangling crystals, and below, a chasm that swallowed light itself. Calling it a room was wrong. The space was vast enough for wind to howl through it. An auditorium, perhaps, as large as Henrikia’s Assembly Hall.

  Yet it felt nothing like home.

  The stairs they’d been descending finally ended, and there before them, the chasm. Across it hung three sweeping arcs of white seats, suspended over nothing. Each of them was filled with men and women in white robes, every gaze fixed on a single point ahead.

  Madasa stepped forward, walking straight into the open air as if an invisible bridge lay beneath his feet. The others followed, and Hamis realised the path held firm. Olande clutched his sleeve the entire way.

  They reached the platform and drew quiet glances from the robed audience. Madasa raised his staff, pointing onward. Ahead, three smaller arcs hung in the air, each one facing a raised cliff where a pulpit stood.

  Behind the pulpit was a man in red, dressed like a Hexite priest. And behind him—dim, glowing, magnificent—was an artefact: an arch much like the others, but forged of metal and light. Beneath it, sculptures of men and women reached upward, their outstretched hands forever frozen in ascent.

  “That is the man you are looking for,” said Madasa, pointing his staff—away from the priest and toward a lone figure seated on the smallest arch. An old man, wrapped in a great cloth, sat there alone on both sides.

  “Gamaki the Greater,” Gamaki said. “My father—and chief of Nere Grem.”

  “He’s in the middle of something right now. If you wouldn’t mind waiting until after the service to meet him,” said Madasa, waving his staff toward the nearby seats. “Make yourselves comfortable.”

  “What is all this?” asked Dasu, frowning at the spectacle before them.

  “This,” said Madasa, amused, “is church. Find somewhere to sit, be quiet, and try not to get into trouble.”

  Madasa and Gamaki leapt off the first arch, landing somewhere in mid-air, and continued walking away without Hamis and his friends.

  The three boys found a set of empty seats together. They tossed their travelling bags onto the remaining chair and sank into their own. The cool air, dim light, and soothing rhythm of the priest’s voice—it was just like the movies. Even the priest part.

  Back home, priests used to barge into cinemas to lecture parents about the sort of content they were letting their children watch. Everything was demonic, and violence was not to be glorified. Sometimes, the church even got whole films banned.

  Hamis yawned and sank deeper into his seat. Movies always made him sleepy. Isse used to get annoyed—one moment they’d be laughing together, the next he’d be tipped over and fast asleep.

  Behind him, Olande and Dasu broke into a quiet chortle.

  “Shut up,” hissed a voice. “Be quiet or leave.”

  “Do you know who I am?” Dasu shot back.

  “Dasu, Dasu, Dasu—please, don’t,” Olande whispered.

  Hamis pried his eyes open but kept his head low. Dasu rolled his eyes. Olande showed all his gums apologising to whoever sat behind them. Hamis nudged him, mouthing, What is it?

  Olande leaned in. “The priest said something weird, and Dasu made a rude comment. I laughed. I shouldn’t have.”

  Hamis grinned. Sounded like fun. He sat up and started listening.

  “…scripture tells us that Rheina’s disciples were fishing one day,” the priest was saying. “When one of them looked to shore, he saw their master standing there. At first, they did not believe him—how could their master Rheina be alive? Shaphet had killed him. But then, the figure by the shore—whom they thought was Rheina’s ghost—began to walk on water.”

  There was a collective gasp.

  “Yes, brethren,” the priest continued, “Rheina was the first marker in the history of the Living World. When Geles saw this, she too stepped out of the boat and walked upon the water. And that, my brethren, is how marking came into this world. Rheina taught Geles, who taught her descendants in turn.”

  “Women don’t go out on the sea,” Dasu muttered, clearly annoyed. “How could she be a fisherman?”

  “I think there are bigger problems with his story,” Hamis said, ruffling his hair. “Geles is Islan’s ancestor—and Islan is very Henrikian. We’ve got an entire region named after him.”

  “Maybe there’s more to Geles than we know,” Olande offered. “Your mom’s Henrikian, but she’s still of the Grem.”

  “Hey, you three—what did I tell you about making noise?”

  The voice came from behind again. The woman was on her feet, ready to knock the boys on their heads. Dasu wasn’t having it. He rose too, and the two squared off, braced for a shouting match.

  Hamis shut his eyes, anticipating the worst—when the priest suddenly raised his voice.

  “I have received some news,” he declared, “concerning our brethren who embarked on the brave voyage to the sky this morning. Brother Madasa and Brother Gamaki served as witnesses to what was to come, and they have recounted that our latest trip… has failed.”

  A collective groan of sorrow rippled through the room. The woman who had been ready for a fistfight with Dasu lost her anger at once. She mumbled a name and slumped into her chair. Those around her patted her shoulders, whispering for her to stay strong.

  “We will need volunteers,” the priest continued, “to pick up where they left off, and once again ascend to meet our Lord and Saviour in heaven.”

  “Why do we keep failing?”

  Had it not been for Hamis’ sharpened hearing, he wouldn’t have caught the voice. It was the chief—Gamaki the Greater—leaning on his son as he stepped forward to the edge of the arch.

  “More than a hundred of my men are dead,” the old man said. “And we have nothing to show for it. Tell me what we are doing wrong.”

  “One hundred men,” the priest replied, “but not one hundred worthy men. I told you when we began this sacred work—we need the most powerful among us. Rheina recognises determination and grit. He will not open the gates of heaven to those who have not sweated to reach them.”

  “My son was the strongest man I knew,” said a voice from behind. “What else could Rheina be looking for?”

  If there was ever a moment to win the chief’s favour, this was it.

  Hamis leapt off the arch and streamed through the auditorium. Gamaki and Madasa saw him coming and looked far from pleased. The old chief and the priest turned to face him—but neither spoke.

  Hamis landed hard on the central, squinting back at where his friends sat. The blinding lights above made it impossible to see their faces.

  “Chief!” he shouted. “Hi—my name’s Hamis, and I just want to say something really quickly. That guy is lying to you. Geles was not of the Grem. And the only way to get to Rheina in heaven is—well, when you die. There’s nothing physical about it. It’s kind of stupid to think you can just go all the way up to heaven. I’ve been to the clouds many times—there’s nothing up there but more clouds! You’re killing your people for nothing.”

  The chief stared at him. With every passing second, his wrinkled face grew tighter, until the lines seemed to multiply. His body trembled. He nearly tripped over his robe.

  “GET OUT!” he roared. “Gamaki—take him away!”

  Gamaki lifted Hamis by the collar. Olande didn’t resist when the prince scooped him up too, hauling both boys out. They were set down—none too roughly—on the pavement outside. Dasu followed, carrying their bags.

  “Hamis,” said Gamaki, laughing, “you’re a strange one.”

  “I didn’t mean to upset him,” Hamis muttered.

  “Really?” Olande shrieked. “Because you’re amazing at it!”

  “Ease off your friend,” said Gamaki. “He meant well. Everyone’s entitled to their own opinion—you just need to know when to keep it to yourself.”

  “Don’t tell me you believe that nonsense,” said Dasu, setting their bags down. “There wasn’t a single smart man in that room—and you know it. That’s the only reason you’re not dead yet.”

  Gamaki shepherded them down the street and away from the church, following his father’s order to the letter. There wasn’t much Hamis could do to change his mind.

  “I’ll admit it, Dasu, it does sound like nonsense,” said Gamaki once they were strolling through the grass. “But I’ve seen something up there myself. I was among the first to embark on the trip to the sky, and even though I cowered at the last moment, I can’t deny what I saw. We all did. While I returned, the others pushed on toward the filament… but they came crashing down.”

  “Filament?” asked Hamis.

  “You know — the filament that covers the whole earth,” explained Gamaki. “It’s what separates us from God and the angels. Once you break through, you make it to heaven.”

  All three boys fell silent for their own reasons. Hamis had never heard anyone mention such a thing before. Then again, he wasn’t the most religious person, so maybe the filament was real. Olande kept blinking at Gamaki, waiting for the prince to start laughing. Dasu had his eyes on the ground, not paying attention — until he noticed what looked like one of the fallen travellers.

  He squatted beside the corpse. “There are inscriptions on his skin,” Dasu observed. “These men died because they ran out of ascension.”

  “Only the best of the best can make it,” said Gamaki.

  “Do you know how much effort it takes to run out of magic?” said Dasu, glancing at Hamis. “If there really is a filament up there, no one would know it existed — certainly not your priest.”

  “What sect of Hexism is this?” asked Olande. “I’m sorry, but your priest says things ours never taught on Hillbrook.”

  “I understand — it’s strange, and I don’t blame you,” said Gamaki. “Father Theos wouldn’t have had many followers if not for the sun spell. While we suffered losses of our own, we lost the least among the five islands.”

  “How many?” asked Dasu.

  “Only twenty-five of our people died,” said Gamaki. “Out of the thousand, I believe.”

  “And the priest helped how?” asked Hamis.

  “By giving us hope,” said Gamaki. “He showed us the path to salvation. Rheina had given us time to repent and was finally showing his hand. We pleaded for mercy — and he spared us.”

  “He didn’t spare your family,” said Dasu. “We know about the deaths. I saw you burn your wife and children on our island.”

  “And my mother and sisters,” said Gamaki, his voice low now. “A fault of my father. I urged him to believe the priest, but he refused and forbade our household from communing with Father Theos. Only after they all had passed did my father realise what a fool he’d been.”

  “So it was your father’s idea to reach heaven,” said Hamis.

  “He wants to see if our family is at peace up there,” Gamaki said. “It’s his wish — not the priest’s.”

  “But the priest still encourages it, even though its wrong,” said Hamis.

  “But can you prove he’s wrong?” asked Gamaki, smiling faintly. “I would have called him a fool too before the sun struck the Grem. My family is dead because of our faithlessness. If I am alive today, I must use this gift of life to grant my father his wish.”

  “You’re ascending?” Hamis said before Olande could.

  “I believe it’s my calling to instil some faith in the three of you,” said Gamaki. “Wait here and watch. You may leave the island once I return with good news.”

  “Will it take long?” said Dasu. “We aren’t waiting around all day.”

  It didn’t take long.

  From the top of a lone tree, the boys watched the proceedings. Gamaki stood before the small gathering that made up the island’s people. His father, the chief, embraced him and kissed his forehead. The priest sprinkled holy water over him, blessing him for the journey. Madasa, the man in the straw hat, stood beside the chief, clutching his staff, head bowed.

  Gamaki wasn’t the only one who had volunteered to ascend. About thirty men rose with him. Their families waved, wishing them a safe journey. In five minutes, they vanished behind the castle rocks. In fifteen, the last of them disappeared into the clouds.

  In thirty, the first of them came crashing down.

  Hamis shot into the sky, the wind tearing behind him. He cast a chain of spells, stripping timelines from space to snare the falling star. The body tore through his trap, still hurtling down. Hamis leapt from a boulder, chasing it through the air. The heat, the force—it was too much. The body struck the grass with a sickening thud, splattering the green with red. More followed, crashing into the earth with terrifying speed.

  It was so brutal, so bloody, that the only way they could tell Gamaki apart was by the rings he’d worn around his arms. They lay scattered, each one smouldering.

  Hamis hovered high above, sick to his stomach, watching the small crowd gather behind their chief and priest. The chief saw what was left of his son among the wreckage and turned to the priest.

  “We will try again tomorrow,” said the priest.

  And the chief agreed.

  Dasu pressed a hand to Hamis’ shoulder. “Are we still leaving?”

  “Not yet,” said Hamis quietly. “No.”

  Exile meant they couldn’t lodge with anyone in Nere Grem. Olande had some relatives here, but whether they were still alive was another matter. So the only place to sleep without trouble or payment was right there in the grass, their bags for pillows.

  Some stars shone brighter than others. It was the kind of detail you missed, growing up in the city. Olande and Dasu knew their names as though it were common knowledge. They said most of the stars weren’t stars at all, but portals to other worlds.

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  If Hamis could believe that without proof, could he really call the priest’s followers foolish for believing what they did? The chief’s palace loomed nearby—one of the largest buildings Hamis had ever seen. It was among the few castles that remained after Thorel’s conquest during the Sun Set Wars, built into a ridge of hills and hidden by the surrounding rocks.

  “I went by their Dande tree today,” said Dasu. “It was as bad as I expected. No one spreads ashes there anymore. I bet they bury bodies like westerners now.”

  “As long as the tree is still alive,” Hamis said. Then a thought came to him. “Are you guys Hexites?”

  “No,” said Dasu, just as Olande said, “Yes.”

  Dasu and Olande exchanged a look. “What about you?” asked Olande. “What do you believe in?”

  Hamis thought for a while. “To be honest,” he said, “I’m not sure. For now, I believe in the Grem. I believe my sister’s spirit is here, and that she needs me to see the islands. Which means I should probably tell the chief I’m interested in ascending to heaven.”

  “No way,” said Olande. “I promised your mother you wouldn’t do anything stupid.”

  “It’s a death sentence, you fool,” said Dasu. “If you really want to help the chief, it’s the priest we should go after. I bet we can get him to admit he’s full of shit.”

  With that, Dasu got up and swaggered off toward the town.

  “We should probably follow him,” said Olande, watching him go.

  Hamis yawned and shrugged. “He’s just blowing off steam. He’ll be back.”

  Olande accepted that and sank back into the grass. It struck Hamis that this was the first time since they’d met that he and Olande were truly alone together. He realised he didn’t actually know much about his friend at all.

  Instead of asking, he simply watched. Soon he noticed something remarkable — the flowers in the grass leaned toward Olande. Hamis had seen him use his powers only a handful of times: once to scare off a fox, and a few other moments that hardly mattered. But this, though quiet and unintentional, fascinated Hamis.

  “Who are you thinking about?” Hamis asked.

  “No one,” Olande lied, and the flowers relaxed back into place. “Who should I be thinking about?”

  Hamis shrugged. “You don’t have to tell me.”

  The tension caught the plants again. This time, the pull was stronger.

  “I’m just… missing someone, that’s all.”

  “Tell me.”

  “No.”

  “I want to know.”

  “You’ll make fun of me.”

  “I promise I won’t.”

  “Fine.”

  Olande fiddled with his fingers, swallowing a knot in his throat. “We had a neighbour who farmed on my grandmother’s land for a share of the harvest. He was hardworking, kind, and honest. His daughter used to bring us milk every morning. I’d lose sleep at night because I couldn’t wait to see her the next day. But I never had the courage to tell her how I felt. Now it’s too late.”

  Hamis knew how the story ended. “I’m sorry,” he murmured.

  “Not everyone gets to be as lucky as you,” said Olande.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You already know who you’re getting married to.”

  “I do?” Hamis scratched through his hair. The only woman he spoke to regularly was his mum.

  “The princess, Hamis,” said Olande, tired of his act. “Nalu’s been crazy about you ever since she learned Ma Eden had a son. It must be nice, having the girl everyone wants chasing after you.”

  Feigning humility would only make Olande angrier, so Hamis said nothing. He didn’t know what to do with the information anyway.

  “Nalu,” Hamis said at last. “I haven’t seen her since she lost her little sister. I couldn’t say anything to her at the time.”

  “Since our beloved princess isn’t good enough for you, who do you like?” There was venom under Olande’s tongue tonight. “Let me guess — it’s a Sorel. None came to the Grem, but you Henrikians never shut up about how no one compares to a Sorel.”

  Ashey was pretty — but only when she wasn’t aware of it. The last thing he’d ever do was admit that to her face.

  “They aren’t all that different from everyone else,” said Hamis. “Expectations do confusing things to your mind, I guess. The one I know just gives me headaches. She’s more pain than anyone deserves. Besides, she has a thing for my best friend — not that anything could ever happen between us. Ever.”

  “I thought Kade was your best friend,” snorted Olande.

  “Kade never asked who my best friend was,” said Hamis. “It’s my mate from Se Fina — Jenne. One of the best sorcerers you’ll ever meet.”

  “I’ve heard you mention his name before. I thought it was your sister.”

  “No, my sister’s name is... was Isse. Jenne’s a boy.”

  “Why does he have a girl’s name?”

  They were getting off track. “Point is, even if for some weird reason I somehow fall in love with Ashey, I’d have to keep it a secret for the rest of my life.”

  “Why? Jenne would understand.”

  “It doesn’t make it right.”

  Olande sighed. “Do you ever get tired of always doing the right thing?”

  “Sorry to interrupt your evening, Hamis.”

  Both boys jumped out of their grass bed. Hamis had no idea how Madasa could sneak up so quietly. The former Gaverian, well aware he had startled them, smiled faintly and gestured toward the town with his staff.

  “I am here to escort you to the castle. My chief would like to have a word with you.”

  “I’m sorry for sticking around,” said Hamis, picking up his bag. “We were just about to leave — but we have to find our friend first. He went to town.”

  “I bet he stirred up some trouble,” mumbled Olande.

  “Dasu is not in trouble, and neither are you,” said Madasa. “This has nothing to do with your exile.”

  Hamis dropped his bag again. He told Olande to stay behind and watch over their things while he followed Madasa to the castle.

  “How did you know I hadn’t left the island yet?” Hamis asked the old marker.

  “I think anyone with a good nose could track you down with ease,” said Madasa. “I also know your mother is on Hillbrook Grem and hasn’t moved from her home since morning.”

  That was a joke. Probably.

  The castle grounds were a small town in themselves — a gloomy encampment with high walls that kept the wind out. It was soundless, save for the faint echoes of servants moving about in the upper rooms. Lanterns sat on the window sills of kitchens and bedrooms alike.

  Past all that, they climbed to the peak of the castle, where they found the old man sitting alone in a foldable chair, his head tilted toward the milky sky.

  “Chief,” said Madasa.

  “Thank you,” said old Gamaki. “You may leave now.”

  Madasa bowed slightly and left Hamis in the chief’s presence.

  The memory of the chief’s earlier yelling still rang in Hamis’ ears. He wasn’t sure why the man would want to see him after all that.

  “I was insulted by your words this morning,” said Gamaki. “But they also made me think. I used to doubt what the Fathosian had to say. You reminded me of those doubts today.”

  “Is that what the priest calls his sect of Hexism?” asked Hamis. “I’ve never heard of it.”

  “The name of our God is Fathos Divina,” said Gamaki. “The priest claims our sect is the oldest and purest form of Hexism. The kind Henrikians practise is, according to him, corrupted by politics.”

  Hamis drew a slow breath. “If you want me to take back what I said, I won’t. I don’t believe in your priest’s teachings.”

  Old Gamaki waved him closer. Hamis hesitated, unsure if he’d missed something, then stepped forward until he was as near as comfort allowed. The chief pointed toward the ocean pier to the north of the castle.

  “Do you know how satisfying it is to watch your grandchildren build sandcastles?” the chief asked.

  “No.”

  “I used to sit here at sunset every day to watch mine do that.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” murmured Hamis.

  “Help me up.”

  The chief leaned on him. Bit by bit, they descended the stairs and entered the kitchen. The servants bowed upon his entrance.

  “Show my guest the bean cakes Sena baked,” said Gamaki.

  Almost at once, a plate appeared in front of Hamis, with warm, round cakes still steaming as though they had just come out of the oven. A marker field surrounded the plate, holding the objects within perpetual time.

  “No one taught her how to make them,” Gamaki said, laughing softly, overwhelmed by the memory. “She read about them in a book she found in my trunk upstairs.”

  The servants laughed along, but fell silent the moment Hamis and the chief left.

  Gamaki showed Hamis the lawn he had abandoned since there was no one left to play ball on it. Then he took him through the rooms he had decorated for his daughter-in-law, who had finally conceived and was expecting a baby soon. The women in the castle gossiped about her, and sometimes she would cry — but Gamaki always made sure to comfort her.

  “My wife and I had no children for our first five years,” he said. “My uncles advised me to take another wife, but I never did.”

  When his daughter-in-law conceived, old Gamaki was the first person she told. It was meant to be a secret until she had given birth. Their walk brought them back to the rooftop, where he sank once again into his chair and lifted his gaze toward the heavens.

  “Your people have had the Dande tree for generations,” said Hamis. “I lost my sister, and I feel her the closest when I’m near those trees.”

  “They have no power,” said the chief. “Works of demons. Madasa tells me you came all this way to spread your ashes beneath it. I won’t stop you. We all hold different beliefs, after all.”

  “Thank you,” said Hamis, bowing.

  “However, you must repay my virtue in kind.”

  Hamis froze, watching the clouds drift overhead. The impossible journey that had killed the chief’s own son that morning had fallen upon him. “Take me to the heavens, Edenson,” said Gamaki. “I want to see my family again.”

  Hamis squeezed his hands together until they hurt. “When do we go?”

  “First thing tomorrow,” the chief said. “My servants will prepare rooms for you and your friends in the meantime. If you refuse my offer, you leave my island.”

  Madasa had the privilege of escorting Hamis out of the castle once again, to fetch his friends and belongings. The former Gaverian clearly understood what the chief had asked. He had seen Gamaki die trying to reach Heaven once before. If Hamis knew anything about Madasa, it was that the man still carried Eden’s wisdom in his heart — and he would not allow Hamis to make the same mistake.

  “Your ears must be full of stories from our chief,” said Madasa. “I pray you have the patience for one more.”

  Here it comes, thought Hamis.

  “A lively group of children fought against conquerors alongside their kin but they were much too young and far too weak,” said Madasa. “They were captured and chained; bound for a foreign land they had never heard of—to fight in a war they knew nothing about.

  “One of them was different. He had the heart of a warrior and would not break, no matter how hard they flogged him. He saw the pain his brothers and sisters were going through and swore to end it. He thought to himself: If I could cut the head of the snake, the whole ship would sink.

  “The head of the snake was a man so vile, so cruel, even his own men feared him. He had blood-red eyes and teeth sharper than blades. His name? Regis Regal—High Commander.”

  Madasa continued. “The boy built up his strength and mastered the Blind Spell—a technique so advanced only masters of ascension knew it. Without his hands, he cast a charm that trapped Regis in a web of timelines, coiling around the High Commander’s body, twisting and straining at his bones.

  “Alas, the young marker was far too weak, and the evil crafter was a furnace far too hot to temper. Regis found out who had tried to kill him and said, ‘Since you prefer casting your spells blind, I will make you blind.’ He pressed his thumbs to the young marker’s temples and engraved two hexes over his eyes—spells that raised the temperature of the film over his lids just enough that they would forever burn.”

  Hamis’s stomach dropped at the depth of his own stupidity. Madasa had been blind this whole time and he had not been able to tell. He hovered a pace ahead of the former Gaverian, who paused in perfect time. Madasa still wore a smile, but it was not for Hamis — it was a smile into empty space. Those hexes over his eyes: Hamis could not see them yet, but he imagined the heat they must hold.

  “What is the moral of the story?” Madasa asked, brushing Hamis aside with his staff.

  “Henrikians are evil,” Hamis guessed.

  “Do not attempt what you are bound to fail at,” Madasa said. “I would still have my sight had I kept my head down like my friends. You can go home and keep your life.”

  The guest chamber felt more tomb than bedroom — thick shadowed walls, a sombre flame, a single small square window. It took an hour of discomfort before Hamis moved permanently into Olande’s room. On the way he ran into Dasu, hands in his pockets, face tight with a deep frown and a twist at the corner of his mouth.

  “Madasa must have found you,” Hamis said. “Where were you anyway?”

  “The fool ruined my plans,” Dasu spat, pushing Olande’s bedroom door open. “I was looking for the priest, but he found me before I could. If I can get him to admit he’s a liar, the chief would come to his senses.”

  Dasu shoved Olande out of the bed with a swipe. Olande tumbled to the floor, about to protest, when Hamis cut him off. “You shouldn’t have,” he said. “I already agreed to take him up to heaven tomorrow.”

  “You, what?” Olande yelled, matching Dasu’s growl with a slap across his own face.

  “There is nothing up there, Hamis — or are you too stupid to realise that as well?” Dasu asked.

  “Who knows,” Hamis said. “Maybe there is something. We can’t prove there’s nothing. Besides, I’m taking the chief with me. If he’s had enough, he might give up.”

  “He saw his son die right before his eyes, and he didn’t even care,” hissed Olande. “I’m sorry, Hamis, but he’s completely lost his mind.”

  “It didn’t feel that way when I spoke to him today. I think he cares a lot about his family.”

  Olande and Dasu wore the same expression: You are going to die. Out of some respect for Hamis and a grudging faith in his abilities, they held back from insisting on the obvious.

  The morning broke orange and warm, the sun a steady blaze over the hills. The chief told the priest of his journey to heaven, and the priest told his congregation — which was, in truth, the entire town.

  Old Gamaki had no one left to bid farewell. He held Hamis’s hand and looked out over his people with a longing that words could not bear. Many in the crowd were teary-eyed; some clutched their handkerchiefs, others gazed upward, following them with silent prayers. The priest blessed Hamis and the chief with holy water, murmuring, “If you do not return, my son, you will be remembered for your courage.”

  Madasa, Dasu, and Olande were not among the crowd, yet Hamis could feel them nearby — watching him attempt the impossible.

  “Edenson, take me,” ordered Old Gamaki.

  Time fell away. Hamis tore himself free from gravity’s hold and latched onto the Z directional plane, beginning the ascent. To move along a single plane — say, five hundred kilometres — demanded the strength of three hundred mages’ worth of ascension, nearly three-quarters of his own natural reserve. Heaven, if it existed at all, might be a thousand kilometres beyond that.

  In no time, the people below had dwindled into white dots in a green sea. Then the sight vanished behind clouds. Upward they went, higher and higher, the air thinning and the light sharpening until the ground was only memory.

  Old Gamaki said nothing. His face was blank, untouched by the splendour of the clouds or the fierce brilliance of the sun. His tunic whipped in the wind, yet he did not shiver. Hamis had considered wrapping them both in a marker field, leaving only their faces exposed, but he dared not waste the ascension. Every drop mattered.

  Still higher. The monotony of endless ascent dulled his senses. Hamis yawned; his eyes grew heavy. Then — a stench. Sharp, sour, unmistakable. Alcohol.

  He jerked awake and looked up — and gasped.

  Suspended ahead of them, tangled in a web of timelines, was a body of a marker. The field still flickered faintly, cast perhaps in reflex before death.

  They drifted past it, the image shrinking to a dark speck below. Higher still they rose, until even that was gone.

  Hamis’s skin began to tighten, every pore screaming warning. The air itself seemed to press against him. He looked up — and saw only what he’d seen for the past hour: endless, unbroken sky.

  He turned to the chief and touched his shoulder gently. The old man’s eyes fluttered open, clouded and cold.

  “Are we here?” he croaked.

  “Yes,” said Hamis. “We’re here.”

  The chief pulled himself upright and peered into the vast nothingness. “I can’t see…”

  “I can,” said Hamis. “I see a field — just like the one in Nere Grem. There are children playing in it.”

  The chief’s breathing grew ragged. “Are they happy?”

  “They’re the happiest I’ve ever seen. A bright light watches over them. It won’t let us go too near.”

  “But what else do you see?”

  “Some women, laughing together. I think they’re throwing a party for one of the children. There’s a table full of pastries, and more coming from a kitchen nearby. One of them’s upset — a little boy’s barged in and scattered sand all over the place.”

  “Seth,” said Gamaki, chuckling weakly. “Still a naughty boy.”

  “And there’s a man walking toward the light,” said Hamis. “Everyone’s clapping for him — they’re calling him a brave warrior, a noble son. The light’s summoning him for his medal.”

  “Gamaki,” whispered the old man, voice trembling. He closed his eyes, tears breaking free. “Take me home.”

  Hamis never remembered what came next. When his senses returned, he was cradled in Madasa’s arms, drifting down through clouds.

  “Idiot,” came Dasu’s voice, faint.

  He blacked out again.

  When he woke, a thunder of voices surrounded him. The people were shouting, crying, reaching toward their chief. Somehow, both he and Hamis had returned alive. Hamis doubted the cheers were for him.

  It took a good deal of pushing before the crowd gave the chief room to breathe. To everyone’s surprise, Gamaki seemed stronger than before. Maybe it was the exhaustion, but Hamis noticed the people’s faces twisting with annoyance rather than awe. They threw him sidelong glances, muttering that after all his arrogance, he hadn’t reached heaven at all.

  The priest stepped forward, welcoming the chief back. “I prayed, and God revealed to me that your life was in danger,” he declared. “I was right to ask Madasa to follow closely. Had it not been for him, you both would have fallen to your deaths after that boy failed to make it to heaven.”

  The crowd erupted — jeers and shouts for Hamis to leave the island. None dared go near him, though; Dasu stood nearby.

  Hamis barely heard them. The world was fading again at the edges. Then Gamaki’s voice — sharp, breaking through the noise: “No, you’re wrong. We did reach heaven!”

  The priest insisted the journey had clouded his mind, but Gamaki would not yield.

  “DO NOT OFFEND MY GUEST!” he roared. “Edenson has done what none of my men could do! I have been to heaven — I have seen it with my own eyes. For that, I will honour my word. Hamis shall spread his sister’s ashes beneath the Dande tree.”

  “My lord…” the priest began.

  Gamaki shook his head. “My promise stands. Edenson believed in our God and risked his life to take me to His home. Why should we deny him his gods — the ones we ourselves once believed in?”

  Hamis slept the rest of the day. A servant woke him at dusk: the tree was ready.

  He found his traveller’s bag and drew out one of the two pouches his mother had given him.

  “Dasu, Olande — thank you for saving me,” he muttered. “I thought I could do it alone, but I was wrong.”

  “Thank Madasa,” said Olande. “I didn’t help at all.”

  Dasu crouched in front of him. “How far did you get before you came to your senses? And why did the chief lie for you?”

  Hamis smiled as he shook his head. “I did what he asked for, I guess.”

  The Dande tree stood at the edge of a cliff that fell sheer into the ocean. It was a lean, shrivelled thing, starved of love and care from its own people.

  Old Gamaki had come to pay his respects alongside Hamis, accompanied by the priest, who had changed out of his white robes into the red vestments of the Hexite order — sleeves long enough to hide his hands.

  Hamis knelt behind the tree, performing the rites for his sister. “Isse, this is Nere Grem,” he whispered. “No matter the horrors eating up the world, hope is enough to keep you going. Some desires don’t come true until you believe them into existence. I think you should come here—”

  A glass smashed against the trunk. White fire burst from the impact.

  Dasu shouted a string of curses, and Olande tackled him to the ground, holding him back from lunging at the priest. “We cannot compromise our faith because of a demon!” the priest cried. “Even Satan can enter heaven! This is his way of tempting you back to the old ways, so you may repent of them!”

  Olande’s pleading voice tangled with Dasu’s fury. The priest shouted louder still, but the chief only watched the flames in silence.

  And there sat Hamis, tears tracing his cheeks as the white fire devoured the Dande tree.

  Then, something happened — something he could not see, but felt. The warmth faded. The brightness dimmed. The fire burned itself out, leaving behind the same old tree… stronger than before.

  Dasu’s voice died in his throat. The priest, too, fell silent.

  Hamis rubbed his eyes, certain he was dreaming. When he rose, he nearly bumped into the chief, who was now standing beside him.

  “Spirith is the blood of the Grem,” said Gamaki. “Do you not wonder why it burns everything it touches, and yet we drink it?” No one answered. Gamaki threw back his head and laughed. “Children.”

  “I’ve seen you burn bodies with spirith,” said the priest. “There must be something wrong with the concoction I used.”

  “It’s the same,” said Gamaki. “How did you think the Dande tree became what it is? The flame does not touch our souls — and it’s the same souls within the trees that keep them from burning. You, holy man, have only quenched their thirst.”

  He laughed again, the sound echoing off the cliffside.

  “There must be a simple explanation,” the priest muttered. “The wood must have some fire-resistant property—”

  “I don’t want you on my island by sunrise,” said Gamaki, suddenly sharp. “Now that I know my family is safe in heaven, you are of no use to me.”

  The priest exhaled, as though he’d expected this all along. He turned to leave, then paused. “And your own salvation?”

  “I will join my ancestors in the world below,” said Gamaki. “When I die, my people will burn my body and scatter my ashes beneath this tree.”

  “Then burn in hell,” said the priest, smiling faintly.

  “Same to you,” said Gamaki.

  He knelt once more beneath the tree, sighing as he motioned for Hamis to join him.

  The young marker took his place again and whispered, “Although hope is good for us, we should also long for things we can actually achieve in our lifetime. Otherwise, hope might be the very thing that kills us in the end.”

  He smiled faintly, brushing a hand over the grass. “Also, note: Nere Grem kind of looks like Henrik City. So, if you ever miss Henrikia, you can come here… and remember why it sucks.”

  White sails appeared before the moonlight by evening; soon a boat docked at Nere Grem, bringing forth Raika, his family and a small company of men. What Gamaki had meant to be a quiet night turned into a feast.

  Having become Gamaki’s “best friend” (Gamaki’s words), Hamis was seated beside the Nere Grem chief. Dasu was there by virtue of being Raika’s nephew. Isone—the woman who’d visited Hamis’s house a few days before—sat quietly behind a table, unassuming in every way. Next to her was her daughter, Nalu. Whenever Nalu looked at Hamis, he had to look away.

  The reason for the visit was simple. Raika was assembling an elite force bound for Henrikia. Their mission: assassinate all the Sorels.

  “Does your loyalty remain with Hillbrook?” Raika asked. “Do you honour the oaths your forefathers swore to mine all those years ago?”

  “Had you come a few days sooner I would have kicked you out!” Gamaki laughed, choking on a fishbone. “I do. I swear.”

  “Then honour me with your best warrior, Gamaki.”

  Gamaki shrugged. “My best warrior is dead. The next best, as you can see, fled upon your arrival.”

  “I would never have taken that coward,” Raika grumbled. With Olande’s help, Hamis understood who they meant — Madasa. He had left soon after Raika arrived. Whatever his ideals, revenge on Henrikia was not among them.

  A spoon clattered to the floor; a chair scraped across stone. Nalu rose, excused herself, and walked down a narrow corridor. She caught Hamis’s eye one last time before she left.

  When the room had quieted, Hamis excused himself and followed her trail. The hallways and kitchens teemed with servants; the upper floors offered privacy. He climbed the stairs quickly, Olande the only one who noticed.

  At the first guestroom the door stood slightly ajar. It was too dark for ordinary eyes to tell, but Nalu was inside. He slipped in and closed the door behind him.

  “Kill Raika,” she said. “And my mother too.”

  “What?” Hamis whispered.

  She clapped a hand over his mouth. “We have lost too much as a people. An attack on the Sun would cost us thousands more. We can’t afford that.”

  “I’m not killing anyone, Nalu,” Hamis murmured. “That’s insane.”

  Her hand fell from his mouth. “There are only two people I know strong enough to kill Raika right now: you, and your mother. But Eden would never do it.”

  “Why make it sound so easy?” Hamis asked. “I’ve never killed anyone in my life, and I never will.”

  “Death is no longer sacred to us,” Nalu said. “When everyone you know can die tomorrow, death becomes nothing — so killing becomes nothing.”

  “No one believes that,” Hamis said.

  She chuckled. “You’re incredibly na?ve after spending this much time with Dasu. Has he not killed anyone yet?”

  “No,” Hamis said, tired of the subject. “I can’t help you. I don’t want to be dragged into whatever’s happening between the Grem and Henrikia. It’s not my business.”

  “What about your Sorel friend?” she pressed. “Don’t you care about her safety?”

  Hamis clenched a fist. “She is far more powerful than I am. I wouldn’t worry for her.”

  Nalu sighed. “You’re not helping me.” She walked past him and opened the door. “Do not trust Dasu. He is not your friend.”

  “I like to give everyone a chance to show the good in them,” Hamis said. “Your brother may have done some bad in the past, but he’s really trying to find his heart out here. He’s just like me.”

  Nalu’s shoulders twitched. “Can you run a little errand for me?”

  “I’m not sticking around Nere Grem for long.”

  She turned back to face him, taking his hand. “Don’t worry, it won’t take much of your time.”

  “What do you want?”

  “I’d like to convert to the Fathos religion,” she said. “I heard the exiled priest is on his way to Jamerson right now. Can you catch up to his boat and let him know for me so that we can arrange a meeting?”

  The priest’s boat was wedged between the ridges of the castle rocks, pulled in by the current. He was dead on the deck. A seam of burned flesh ran from his throat to an opening in his abdomen. An empty bottle of spirith was clutched in his hand — he had drunk it, and it had burned him through.

  Hamis would be off to Wes Grem tomorrow.