“Look! A shrine!” I send a prayer of thanks up to the Lady of the Sky for providing the distraction and wiggle out of Serik’s grip. I can feel him glaring a hole into the back of my skull, but I refuse to turn around. I limp up the trail to where the sacred cairn protrudes from the earth. The heap of rocks and sticks is taller than my head and blue silk scarves flutter in the wind, tied to random protrusions.
It’s a monument to the Lady of the Sky; if travelers present an offering, She blesses their journey with clear roads, fair weather, and sound horses. The old teachings also claim the mounds are gateways. If one of the Goddess-touched places a palm to the base, the Lady of the Sky permits them to enter the realm of the Eternal Blue—the first level of Heaven, reserved for Her most devout followers. My mother said monuments like this used to populate the entire continent like globeflowers, all the way from the southern deserts of Verdenet to the icy steppes of Chotgor. But the king began destroying them two decades ago when he pronounced the First Gods dead and named himself the one true ruler of Heaven and Earth. Now only a few remain on lonely, ill-traveled roads.
I rifle through my satchel until I find an old, faded green scarf. It’s not the traditional cobalt pennant of the Lady of the Sky, but it’s better than nothing. With my head bowed in reverence, I venture forward and tie my scarf to a stick midway up the cairn.
“Ghoa would kill you if she caught you paying tribute to that thing,” Serik says, rumbling up with the cart.
Ghoa would also kill me if she knew there was a prayer doll hidden in the bottom of my satchel and that I still write in my Book of Whisperings. But I see no reason to bend to the king’s New Order. Even before my imprisonment, I struggled to accept his religious declarations.
“Why?” I asked constantly during our early days together, when Ghoa was grooming me to follow in her footsteps. “Don’t you find it slightly convenient that he denounced the First Gods and named himself ‘King of the Sky’ when the people were questioning his reign because he was the first ruler in the history of Ashkar without a Kalima power?”
“Do not speak such heresy!” she scolded. “You’re from the outskirts of the Unified Empire, where it took longer to eradicate old false customs and beliefs. Here in Sagaan, we witnessed his saving grace firsthand. When the First Gods turned their backs on us and allowed the land to be stricken with drought, the Sky King spared us all from certain death by marching to the marshlands of Namaag, convincing them to become the first Protected Territory, and building aqueducts to Sagaan. And he’s brought your people, and so many others, into the fold of the empire, offering protection from Zemya. Only a god on Earth could accomplish so much, yet still no Kalima power came. It’s proof the First Gods are dead.”
I nodded because I knew that’s what she wanted, but it didn’t make sense. When Zemya gave her power to her children, Ashkar was forced to do the same, to protect them from his spiteful sister. Though he was far more prudent. He designated one member from each clan, who had proven themselves true of heart, to serve as a protector, and together they formed the first Kalima warriors. “So then where do our Kalima powers come from, if not from Ashkar?”
“Our gifts have lived within us from the beginning, so we could protect the people. We are notblessedby the gods; wearethe gods. As is anyone who has been called to serve our great empire—like the Sky King.”
While I can see the appeal of proclaiming myself a god, I can’t believe it. Not when I feel the Lady of the Sky pulsing through my veins each night. Or hear the ghost of my mother’s voice singing praises to Father Guzan. Or see the flash of golden earrings crawling up my father’s ears. I cannot turn my back on the First Gods of my ancestors. On my parents’ memory.
I lean back on my heels and stare up at the towering shrine. It’s almost pretty in its disarray, with the offerings scattered about at random: a waterfall of scarves, cascading from top to bottom; tiny vorkhi cups painted with suns and moons and stars; and thousands of coins, some old and tarnished with time—bronze listras from Verdenet and heavy square happas from Namaag. As well as golden kahan coins—the common currency adopted across the Unified Empire. I trail a finger over the king’s stamped profile and smile. These new coins are proof that there are still a few remaining believers, like me, who pay tribute to the Lady of the Sky.
I don’t realize how deeply I’ve fallen under the mound’s spell until Serik pokes me in the back. “Done yet?”
I turn and find him picking the dirt under his nails. This sacred monument might as well be a pile of horse manure, for all the respect he’s paying it. Serik and I shared almost everything growing up, but never this. “Don’t you ever wish you had something to believe in?”
He snorts, and then outright laughs. “Nope. I don’t wish to waste my life recording the sins of others and kissing the feet of a vain king. Nor do I care to worship the First Gods, who overlooked and abandoned me. I believe in making my own destiny.”
“Well, since you’re not interested in participating, would you mind grabbing the vorkhi? It’s tucked in the outside pocket of my satchel.”
Serik’s eyes light up and he digs through my pack. He uncorks the green glass bottle and brings it to his lips. “I will happily worshiplike thisany day.”
“Oh no, you don’t.” I snatch it away. “That’s for the shrine.” I pour a bit of the liquor into my palm and flick it toward the north in remembrance of Father Guzan. The sharp, yeasty smell fills the air, bringing with it another barrage of memories: the crowded army encampments at the war front, collapsing in my tent after a long day of battle, exhausted to my bones and drinking vorkhi with my comrades until the world was fuzzier and lighter.
“All right, all right. The Lady of the Sky and Father Guzan have had enough.” Serik pries the bottle from my fingers. “I’m sure they won’t mind sharing.” He takes a long sip and offers it to me.
I push the bottle aside. “We have a job to do. We can’t be staggering into Sagaan.”
“There’s hardly enough here to make us stagger, and in case you’ve forgotten, we’re not allowed to enter the city. We might as well have a little fun.” He shakes the vorkhi at me. “You do remember how to have fun, don’t you? Or has it been too long?”
“You are a bad influence, Serik.”
“I never claimed to be a good influence. Now drink, otherwise I’ll down the entire bottle and Iwillbe staggering and you’ll have to carry me the rest of the way.”
“Fine.” I take the vorkhi and shoot him a very serious, very unamused look. “Just a few sips.”
But the liquor blazes like sparks across my tongue and a few sips turn into a few long drags. Before I know it, we’ve drained every drop. Serik balances the empty bottle at the top of the mound like a crown.
“That’smyoffering!” he shouts to the cloudless sky. “You’re welcome.”
A burst of laughter tumbles from my mouth, even though his irreverence isn’t funny. We are asking to be stricken. I attempt to scowl at Serik, but I can’t stop laughing and I don’t want him to see, so I clap my hand over my mouth and stumble back to the cart.
The rest of our journey passes in a blur. Serik sings old folk songs about horses and battles and the beauty of Ashkar while I wave my staff around like a saber. The monastery doesn’t exist out here. Neither does the past or future. There is only now, this moment. Me and Serik, surrounded by the enormity of the grasslands. I spin and spin and spin, wanting to glimpse everything, needing to touch every corner of it.
It isn’t until Serik curses under his breath that I notice the mounted figure at the crossroads. My arms fall slack at my sides and my leg resumes throbbing. All the vorkhi in the world can’t dull the pain I feel at this glimpse of my former life.
“You should have arrived an hour ago,” the warrior calls in greeting. We shouldn’t be able to hear her yet, but she projects her voice on the wind, which means she’s a Breeze Bringer, blessed to control the gusts and squalls. Serik slides me a mischievous look and pulls back on the mule’s rope, slowing our approach even further. The warrior’s eyebrows gather.
“We came as quickly as we could,” he says without a hint of apology once we’re in actual hearing distance.
