I picked up a stick from beside the fire and began tapping it lightly on the ground. Then I began to tap carelessly, offhand, like marking time.

Three quick taps. (Sun.)

A breath.

One long scrape. (Down.)

A single hard knock, then three rising in a row. (Attack.)

A nearby disciple twitched at the sound, looking toward me, eyes wide and unfocused. I yawned, rolled my shoulders, and switched to a clumsy imitation of the child’s hymn at the far bench, letting my last taps fall inside the cadence. The watcher lost interest, eyes sliding back to the dirt.

From the rear chamber came a choked gasp. Blaimgoida muttered, mutters that were more hisses, in her agitated sleep. Nightmares surely.

Then it came; a breeze coming from above, faint but unmistakable. The window slats creaked. Soso got my message.

As the sun began to head down and the moons began to rise, I noticed more and more of the tari getting in position. If I could catch sight of them surely a guard would; the tari were clumsy. No matter how out of their mind the guards were, the chance of them being caught increased every minute. A loud drum beating began; the announcement of the Last Light ritual, which hadn’t changed since my old days.

Blaimgoida walked with aplomb, holding the mask with both hands straight in front of her. She looked tired, exhausted as if the youth she had regained earlier had disappeared again. For a heartbeat, I felt bad for the witch, pity even.

I couldn’t stop myself from it. I saw her as she’d been in the old days of Raam. Beautiful, yes, but also joyful and sharp, always walking with her head high and a dangerous smile. It was only with great effort that I had avoided the powerful trickery of her beauty that had been the downfall of all her former lovers. A habit that she surely copied from the Abalach-Re, I wondered if it wasn’t something the Queen, herself, had encouraged.

No matter what, today the queen was dead and Blaimgoida was a husk of her former self, clutching at the power of the mask. She’d wanted power so badly. And now it was killing her, one ritual at a time. She wouldn’t be able to control the power of that mask. This mask, as well as the two others, had been created with that in mind by the Sorcerer Queen herself. Such power wasn’t meant to be held alone, and if stolen by a fool, the fool would be consumed by it.

I saw more tari getting in position; I motioned them to slow down with my palm. If we had to free the Keypridok and survive the witch’s wrath, we had to wait for her to be spent. Doubt nagged me, as I wasn’t sure the tari understood, and their moves seemed to grow emboldened or clumsy. Probably both.

I spotted Vritrik on the roof of the building looking directly at me; our eyes crossed. I quickly looked away, afraid my eyes would incriminate the ambush.

A loud horn blared, making my heart jump. That’s it, I thought, the tari had been spotted by the guard tower.

“By the Queen’s putrefied body,” I swore under my breath.

Blaimgoida blinked as if waking from a trance. The estate’s inhabitants turned toward the tower. The guard looked as confused as the rest, then slowly lifted his lance toward a low hill to the south where a tail of dust climbed the sky. Riders. Coming in fast. At least two dozen on kanks, bearing down on the estate.

“Almighty Badna! What is it?” she shouted.

A worried murmur passed through the disciples. Then the colors came into view: a thin, blood-soaked pennant. The same one as in Rocky Hill, the same one as flown by those butchering and burning buildings in that doomed refuge. My hands went cold. My every instinct screamed at me to run. But the tari were exposed, and Keypridok was still chained. Once again, there was nowhere to run. I didn’t want it, but I had to face it this time.

Confusion creased Blaimgoida’s face. She tried to hold her poise, but her hand went to her neck; for a heartbeat I’m sure I glimpsed what looked like strange scars, almost scale-like, under her scarf.

She turned on me. “Did you hide this from me?”

I stammered “Why would I?”

The kanks thundered closer.

“You two-faced bastard, don’t tell me no one at M’ke warned you about Javed. What is this?” Her voice started level and ended in a ragged shriek. For a moment I thought she’d raise the mask and hollow my head on the spot. No doubt she imagined it too.

“Whoa, whoa there, there, easy now kank!” the leading rider called to his nervous mount.

There are moments where the desert might feel like it stretches for five lifetimes, and there are times when it feels as small as a handful of pocket sand. A large sword-carrying mul jumped down his kank. His thick forehead scar shined as if it was grinning at me. It was one of those days.

“How are ya, little witch? Troubled to see me?” the mul smirked as he looked at the crowd and took a swipe of water from his canteen.

“Why is M’ke sending me their barking dog?” She said, raising her chin towards the riders, then she turned to me. “And this two-faced good-for-nothing agent?”

The mul squinted, sun in his face as he tried to get a better view. Time had passed, his face was seared into my memory, but was mine in his? I only had one Javed in my life; I just hoped that he had terrorized enough Eitros in his life that all those faces would blur mine.

“What are ya talkin’ about? Who is he? I’m here for that mask of yours.” He said, as he assessed the estate and its people.

I saw Blaimgoida pulling the mask closer to her heart as she stared at Javed’s troops. “The Mask? Without the Mask, this estate won’t last a fortnight, you fool!” Her voice was poisonous. “I’ve been tasked by Truvo M’ke himself to bring this estate into Badna’s path.”

Javed waited for a moment and then shrugged before letting a large grin rise on his scarred face. “Yeah well, ya know that old man. He ain’t that trusty-trusty, if ya know what I mean. He called the experiment off.” The mul became serious. “He needs the Mask, with or without ya, witch. So don’t get ya pretty head stuck on a pike by one of my men. I think ya smart enough to know what’s best for ya.” By this point he had climbed back on his kank, and his men had begun to spread out. Javed, who had kept his attention on the witch so far, shifted to me and became pensive.

He pointed his sword at me, his memory slowly awakening. “How are ya, ya little…” just to be interrupted by a loud crack. The edge of the roof that Vritrik was on had just given up.

“Rat people!” shouted one of the kank riders.

A small volley of badly-aimed arrows flew towards Javed’s men. Javed caught one arrow in his fist, threw it to the ground and pointed at the direction the arrows came from. “Burn the estate, kill whoever’s in the way.” He paused. “Ya witch, better come with us now!”

I didn’t wait a second longer and took cue from the chaos to sprint toward the old erdlu stable where Keypridok was held. I barely managed to reach the stable door as I suddenly felt the energy in the air coagulating, and the ground under my steps turning to lifeless ash. I didn’t dare to look back, unsure if I was more terrified of Blaimgoida or Javed.

The headache and queasiness came back right as I took refuge in the barn. I was sure the Third Litany Mask was being reactivated by Blaimgoida. I closed my eyes for a short moment just to gather my thoughts. In the barn, Keypridok was still tied up, and Lady Manthir had just realized something was going on.

“Who’s here?” the Matriarch rasped as she turned toward me. The empty sockets where her eyes had been seemingly looked right at me.

“Burn this cursed mask,” I swore under my breath before realizing I needed to act fast. “Someone who’s here to free you, and your shaman.” I answered the Matriarch. “You’ll have to let us through if you want us to help.” The screams and battle noise convinced her that I was there for the right reason.

Perjaann stumbled in, dragging a whimpering Vritrik by the shoulders. His leg was at the wrong angle: visibly a bad broken bone. He gave me a panicked look. “I slipped, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.” he said as he looked at his broken leg. I thought for a moment he might faint, but he soldiered on.

The loud hum returned in my head, giving me vertigo as I looked outside. Bodies littered the courtyard. I caught a glimpse of Blaimgoida, the mask covering her face. She slowly turned toward me as I noticed a tendril of light shoot out of the mask, straight into the head of one of Javed’s riders, blowing his head into a bloody red mist. There was an ongoing crescendo, which I first felt in my bones and then slowly climbed into my skull. My vision swam.

“Perjaann! The door!” I screamed. “Close it, or she’ll kill us all!”

Perjaann slammed it shut just as Kue’er dove through, rolling to a stop inside. He was panting, covered in dust and blood, seemingly not his own to my relief.

“Dad! I’m so sorry!” Vritrik lamented in Tari as Kue’er went to his son and exchanged worried looks with Perjaann and me.

“We gotta hurry, get Keypridok free. If not now, we’re dead!” I shouted as I rushed toward the dwarf. Despite the Matriarch lowering her protective field, freeing the shaman proved trickier than anticipated. We worked at the dwarf’s bonds. His wrists were raw, the rope crusted with old blood. He didn’t wake when we lowered him to the ground.

“Is he breathing?” Kue’er asked.

I pressed my ear to the dwarf’s chest. Faint, but steady. “He’s alive.”

Kue’er moved toward the Matriarch’s cell, pulling at the bars. “We’re getting you out, old mother.”

She turned her ruined face toward him. Her nostrils flared.

“Rat,” she hissed. “Vermin. You dare—”

I saw it in her posture. The shift. The gathering of will.

“Kue’er, get back!”

Too late. The air cracked. Kue’er flew backward as if struck by an invisible fist. His body hit the barn wall with a sound like snapping wood.

He slumped to the ground and didn’t move.

“Dad!” Vritrik screamed, trying to crawl toward him despite his broken leg.

Perjaann was already moving. She crossed the space in three strides, ripped the cell door off its hinges. Did her claws glow red? Maybe? How? I’m still not sure, and before I had time to react she drove her obsidian knife into the Matriarch’s neck and chest.

Once. Twice. Three times. She didn’t stop.

The old woman gurgled, clawed weakly at Perjaann’s wrist, then went limp. Perjaann stopped for a fraction of a second, her knife raised in the air. She stared at the body.

Perjaann whispered something like a curse, before letting out a primal scream and kept stabbing at the body until I heard the obsidian knife break. All of this in bare seconds.

By that point, smoke curled from the corner of the barn. How did that happen? I wasn’t sure, but it was fair to assume the chaos outside was the culprit. Flames avidly licked up the old, dry wood. We had minutes at most to leave before we’d choke to death on the smoke.

Kue’er’s body was sprawled against the wall, too heavy, blood slowly dripping from his open mouth. Vritrik held his father. His eyes were wild with pain and grief.

I looked at Perjaann. She looked at Keypridok. Then at the spreading flames.

“We can’t carry both,” she roared over the noise of the burning barn.

The barn groaned. A beam fell, crashing near Kue’er’s body.

Perjaann, with a sign of her claw, motioned from her chin to her heart toward Kue’er’s body: a sign for the dead to rest in peace with the molten core of Athas. Vritrik sobbed, begging for everything to stop. Perjaann grabbed Keypridok under the arms. “We need to go.”

“No.” I pushed past Perjaann and rushed to Kue’er’s body. “We take him. Kue’er’s ours.”

She grunted as an answer, and dropped Keypridok. I wasn’t sure if Soso would have agreed.

Perjaann, somehow, got Vritrik on her back and still helped me drag Kue’er. The tari’s head lolled against my shoulder. He was heavy, so much heavier than I’d expected. I still thought he was alive. I still thought we could save him. At least, that’s what I lied to myself. Once I made the decision, I never looked back at Keypridok. But until this day I have nightmares of him opening his eyes in the smoke, watching us abandon him as the flames and smoke swallowed him.

Outside, we stumbled into smoke and chaos. The estate was a war zone. Tari fought alongside estate guards against Javed’s men; others fled into the dunes. I couldn’t tell who was winning, I’m not sure anyone was winning. I didn’t care. Kue’er’s blood soaked into my shirt. Vritrik sobbed on Perjaann’s back. Somewhere behind us, Keypridok was dying in the flames.

As we cleared the barn, a gust of wind hit us. Not the hot, smoke-filled gusts of the fire, but a cold, biting draft.

It pushed against us, trying to turn us back.

Perjaann looked at me, her single good eye wide. “The wind.”

“Good,” I said bitterly. “Let it tell Soso I chose family over his cursed mission.”

Then she was there, mask blazing, as the hum became a shriek.

Tendrils lashed out: one wrapped around Javed, dropping him like a stone; the other came for me.

This time I was ready. In the barn, when she’d probed my memories, I had been taken by surprise. This time I knew what was coming.

Gritting my teeth, I summoned every ounce of my Will, erecting a mental wall against the intrusive force and refusing to yield an inch.

The tendril recoiled. Luckily for me, they were weaker - not weak, but just weak enough for me to resist and hold on.

Blaimgoida staggered. The mask slipped slightly on her face.

“You…” she gasped. “How…?”

And then she was gone. No flash of light or anything - she simply… wasn’t there anymore.

Teleported. Fled. Either way, we still had to escape the chaos.

“Kanks!” Perjaann pointed at three of Javed’s mounts, slightly panicked but unhurt.

We ran. I could feel that Vritrik was already gone; he didn’t look at any of us. Perjaann lifted him onto a kank and helped him with shaking hands.

I lashed Kue’er across my kank’s back. He was still unresponsive.

Behind us, the estate burned. We could hear screams echoing. The tari were scattering, breaking for the dunes in small groups.

A burst of wind lifted a wall of sand, giving the last of them the chance to run away.

We rode without looking back.