Jordan stirred as the soft rays of dawn filtered through the canopy to caress her cheek. She groaned and opened her eyes, and felt her heart stop as she looked down, and down – one hand hanging off the edge of the platform. She rocketed back to safety, colliding with Norae, who slumbered still. The Callkin woke with an alarmed cry, brandishing a dagger.

“Whoa, Norae! It’s me, Jordan!”

Norae blinked blearily, tucked a wayward braid behind one seashell ear, and lowered her weapon.

“Sorry. Startled me. What are you doing?”

A nervous giggle escaped Jordan. “I, uh, woke up staring down over the edge.”

Norae grinned sleepily, but then froze with her mouth ajar. Jordan started, spun to see what she was staring at, and her face lit up with wonder. For there, grown overnight, a slim creeper curved around one great trunk, its fuzzy leaves wavering in the gentle morning breeze. All along its extensive length, large flowers hung, blooming like swathes of violet fire. The flame of each jagged petal was edged with silver, and the violet lightened towards the base to the vibrant blue of a summer sky.

“Oh, wow!” Jordan breathed, “What is it?”

Norae’s voice was reverent, a tear rolled down her cheek. “By Malevelyn, it is a Pyr Lys!”

“Pyr… Lys?”

Norae nodded, her gaze never leaving the magnificent blooms. “An Andoherran Fire Lily. It is the Sigil of the house of Bal’Talanor, the long-reigning line of Worldkin Queens.” She shook her head, captivated. “Pyr Lys are carved all over the Palace, emblazoned onto everything – but no plant has been seen, nor bloomed, for thousands of years… This – this is a miracle, Jordan!”

They stood in silence, drinking in the sight of the splendid lilies. Each was as large as a grown man's torso and hung from the vine like a glorious lantern. Jordan reached out to touch the nearest one, the silk of its petals smooth and cool against her gentle fingers.

It shivered beneath her caress, seeming almost to glow. She breathed in its heady perfume, somewhere between jasmine and fresh apples, and smiled at Norae. They looked up, at tens upon tens of them, spiralling away up the length of the tree bole. Norae offered a small prayer of thanks to Malevelyn, her cheeks shining with her joy as they stared, lost in the moment.

Jordan yelped as a flash of lightning crashed overhead. The flowers nearest the sky snapped shut, followed in sharp staccato by their fellows in an agitated sweep down the length of the tree. Norae threw her gaze to the horizon, leaning left and right to see through the broad leaves of the canopy. She sucked in her breath – a sharp, horrified sound – and Jordan’s blood ran cold.

“What, what is it?!”

“Wild-magic!” Norae hissed, “Storm comes this way!” She was already moving, shoving items into her pack, slinging her weapons into their proper places across her lithe body. She tossed Jordan’s pack at her. “Hurry, Jordan, we go, now!”

She was halfway down the tree by the time Jordan had even shouldered her pack, and gestured with nervous urgency for her to hurry as she picked her way down the rough, grooved bark. Barely had she made it to the forest floor when Norae had her by the arm, hauling her away as fast as she could run. They sprinted wildly, ducking branches, dodging uneven footing, racing breakneck through the trees. A strange static chased them, filling the air, snapping at their skin, making Jordan’s scalp tighten until it hurt. Her breath sobbed in her chest, but Norae did not slacken the pace for even a moment. They broke out of the treeline, skidded to a halt as they caught full view of the valley stretching away.

Bruised clouds gathered in thick waves upon the horizon. Thunder snarled, chasing crackling flashes of coloured lightning that sliced at the sky. Norae cast her gaze desperately, spotted a gigantic Devadaru tree, shoved Jordan to running in its direction. The ground growled, surging beneath them, dropping Jordan to her knees. Norae hauled her up by her pack, pulled her onwards on unsteady feet as the world shook. A prolonged rumble of thunder reverberated, echoing through their very skulls. They reached the massive, twisted Devadaru, ducked under its thick sweeping branches that brushed the floor. Close to the trunk of the great tree, the twisted branches overlapped to form a living cave, and Norae towed Jordan into its safe green depths. At lightning speed, she fished strong strands of thin rope out of her pack and set about tying the already interlaced branches together. Jordan quickly understood the intention of extra support, so that the makeshift cave might keep its form through the coming storm. She hurried to help her. When they ran out of rope, they collapsed against the gigantic trunk, breathing hard.

“Great Devadaru,” Norae whispered under her breath, “Favoured of Malevelyn, safeguard us through this storm.” Her dark eyes flashed at her companion. “No sound, Jordan, harpies come!”

Jordan blanched, felt her tongue tie up against the roof of her mouth. Inside the thick, insulating layers of evergreen needles, an eerie hush descended. Into it, her heart pounded; anything within a hundred miles must surely be able to hear it. Outside, lightning ricocheted off the brewing clouds.

Silence.

And then, ear-splitting screams rent the air. The storm was drawing closer, and with it, the flocks of harpies that hunted across its leading edge. The screams echoed all around them, and Norae’s dark face blanched as she listened. With one hand, she drew her short sword from its scabbard at her belt. With the other, she reached for Jordan’s hand, afraid and not ashamed of it. Jordan, even more frightened because of her companion’s reaction, squeezed her fingers back, hard, praying that their hiding place would be enough to shield them from whatever was coming.

The violent shrieks rebounded, passing over close, veering further afield. Suddenly, the roof of their evergreen cave listed, bowing inwards beneath the weight of something heavy. A symphony of raucous shrieking accompanied the thing’s arrival, and razor-sharp talons clutched at the needled boughs, seeking a better grip. Chittering, the creature outside settled itself, and then the roof stilled. Jordan’s heart raced. Norae shifted her sword, gritting her teeth.

Slowly, inevitably, a sharp, cruel face pushed its way through the pine needles above them. It was barely human; gaunt, beady-eyed, elongated, disproportionate. Its thin-lipped mouth brimmed with sharp, uneven rows of teeth beneath an oversized beak-nose. Jordan froze in terror, heart hammering. She leaned as far back into the shadows as she could, hoping it wouldn’t see them.

But it did. It clucked happily to itself, fixing them with first one bleak black eye, and then the other. Something shrieked past outside, and the monster ducked. It froze briefly, listening; the horrible creature had no intention of sharing its prize. The sound passed by and faded away, and, crooning under its breath, the harpy resumed its activity. With careful deliberation, it pushed aside the pine needles with one long, taloned bird-foot, using its greasy wings for balance as it slashed through several strands of reinforcing ropes. Carefully, it inched its way sideways into the gap. Its gaze never faltered; it cocked its head from side to side as it came, like a deranged robin regarding a worm.

It discovered that the gap in the interlaced branches wasn’t quite wide enough to admit it. The strange, ugly, almost woman-like face frowned, crooning in soft consternation as it considered. Undaunted, it leaned its weight on its wings, readjusted its grip on the outer branches with one powerful foot. The roof of boughs creaked, trembling beneath its weight. Halfway in, as far as it could fit, it stretched out slowly with the other long, scaly leg. It clicked its talons together and Jordan muffled a tiny squeak behind her hands as the wicked claws reached out to her. With a horrible, sinking feeling, she realised that she was well within range. She pushed back into the branches behind her, trying to increase the distance as the talons clicked closer. A hair’s breadth away from her face, Norae lashed out with her sword.

Crimson blossomed, and one claw dangled, useless. The harpy screamed its fury, its spiny red gash of a mouth stretched in a horrible grimace as it scratched at Norae. In the tight confines, the Callkin had little room to manoeuvre; with a savage kick, the monster managed to knock the sword from her grasp. As Norae leapt to retrieve it, the harpy plunged its remaining claws down to snatch at Jordan; the burning tips of its jagged talons pierced her shoulders as she shrieked.

Before Norae could recover and leap to her defence, a hot, stabbing flash obliterated the beast. Jordan cried out at the searing heat on her eyelids, winced at the bang as the hot bolt carved clean through the tree above them, exposing them to the howl of wind and rain. The unpleasant stench of seared flesh and feathers engulfed them, and Jordan choked on the rancid taste in her mouth. The wind flurried, drowning the horrible smell with a billow of sweet smoke from the burning tree, giving Jordan a chance to draw breath and fling her watering gaze around her. Little remained of their haven-turned-trap; the entirety of the magnificent tree was on fire.

Jordan, still clutched by the remnants of the harpy’s dismembered foot, clawed the vile thing off. Panicked, she groped at her stinging, bleeding arms, ducking as another bolt screamed past. Thunder boomed; lightning crashed, and a silhouette stood stark in the flash of light. Jordan tried to shriek at Norae, but her words whipped from her lips on the stinging wind. She leapt forward, pulling the Callkin to the ground with her. They buried themselves beneath pine needles, mud, and shattered branches, and Jordan gesticulated wildly out at the haze of storm and magic.

Beyond the tattered Devadaru boughs, a savagely angry woman, shrouded by rain, wielded her staggering magic with practised ease. Her golden head lifted high in arrogant defiance as she flung white-hot bolts of magic at a large, silver dragon. The beast circled through the black and purple clouds, using them for cover, diving down out of them to spit great gouts of indigo fire. The woman dodged, parried, flung back more of the bright magic. The magical missiles, lightning bolts made of liquid sunlight, flew wide of their weaving mark. They tore up the valley, destroyed oceans of cloud cover, razed another large contingent of harpies. The remaining bird-women were quick to disperse, cackling in alarm. The Sorceress didn’t seem to notice, nor to care. She had eyes only for the dragon, venting her rage in a primal scream as she missed again, and again. Finally, as the dragon dipped into sight once more, she caught it a glancing blow. The beast howled in furious distraction, spiralling off into the tattered clouds.

The woman’s oaths pursued it, and then she took quick advantage of the diversion. She disappeared where she stood, leaving in her wake a fount of sparkling mist. The dragon circled around again through the ragged remnants of the storm. It swung its ivory-horned head from side to side as it flew, searching for her. The last speck of evaporating mist caught its bright red eye before it faded away, and, with a bellow of fury, it dived. An inch before it collided with the ground, it disappeared – at precisely the point the woman had. A wake of silver smoke hung in the air where there had been gold but moments before, and then there was quiet, but for the steady patter of rain.

Norae rolled to her feet, covered in mud and harpy blood. She wiped a splatter from her cheek, smearing it, and reached to help Jordan up.

“Are you hale?” she whispered.

Jordan nodded, hugging her muddied, stinging shoulders, far more important things on her mind. “Was that…?”

“It cannot be… can only have been.” Norae retrieved her short sword, shook her head against discussion. “Must find shelter. Harpies gone, as are others, but we will catch chill.”

Jordan realised she was shivering, as much from adrenalin as the steady, freezing rain. She set her jaw, plodded after the Callkin through the remnants of the storm. She wanted to get dry and warm, avoid shock, and assess the damage the harpy had done. Time to discuss the Sorceress after.

Wet, miserable, they traipsed across the valley to the far side, to the cliff opposite the collapsed scree slope they had descended. Drenched and buffeted by the wind, Jordan was grateful when they pressed through thick forest again, the movement helping to keep her shivers at bay. At last, they reached the foot of the cliff, and Jordan realised that it was riddled with caves. Some were shallow, some stretched far back into gloomy depths. Norae scouted each, chose one of the shallower ones with a good covering of undergrowth shielding its entrance, and beckoned Jordan inside. Grateful, Jordan sank down onto the sandy floor. Wincing, she extricated herself from her pack. She seethed at the pain, and Norae frowned at her through the gloom of the cave.

“Light a fire, then see about your injuries.”

Jordan nodded, rearranged her battered, mud-caked arms to some semblance of comfort, and watched as Norae pulled a small orange crystal from the depths of her pack. From beneath the relatively dry bushes at the mouth of the cave, she gathered kindling. She arranged small sticks around the crystal, balanced larger ones on top, and muttered a few short words. The stone ignited, and soon the small fire crackled gaily, hissing as it fed on damp fodder. Jordan raised her eyebrows.

“I thought you couldn’t do magic?”

Norae used a long stick to point out the orange crystal, now glowing red and white with heat. “Firestone. Enchanted, needs only a few words to activate.” She gave a one-shouldered shrug. “Not my magic.”

Jordan leaned closer, intrigued. “Where did you get it? How does it work?”

“Can buy all over Andoherra. Charm magic.”

She bent to rifle through her pack, caught sight of Jordan’s expression, and resigned herself to a fuller explanation. “Mineral called anerradite, ranging in colour from grey to pure white. Blank crystal from which all charmed stones are cut. Mined right here in Third Kingdom, from caves beneath Bone Plateau. Whole desert is hollow underneath. Best stones are kept for use of the Orders, but lower quality are sent to covens of Kitchkin, who are good at combining things. They imbue crystals with magic, tied to a simple activation charm. Firestones are only one kind. Very many potential uses. Satisfied?”

Before Jordan could finish opening her mouth with her next question, Norae swooped down upon her, pack in hand.

“No more questions until wounds clean!” Norae scolded. “Harpy claws filthy – cuts will get infected.”

She produced a small roll of soft cloth, a tiny pot of andothyst salve, and another crystal, this one a deep blue. Jordan eyed it.

“Waterstone?”

Norae gifted her a wry grin. “Catch on quick.”

Jordan smiled, pleased with herself, and watched as Norae dug a depression in the sand. She lined it with a cooking skin and dropped the crystal into the middle, muttering words.

“Do those last forever?” Jordan asked, watching water seep from the stone.

“No,” Norae replied, wetting a piece of cloth, squeezing it out. “All power fades.” With gentle strokes, she began cleaning the encrusted mud from Jordan’s wounds. “Varies, though. This kind of waterstone lasts about thirty uses before magic runs out, but have used that firestone at least half a hundred times..”

Jordan bit at her lip to keep from crying out as the Callkin worried mud and grit from each cut, stymying further questions. Mercifully, the cloth pulled away again, but Norae’s startled exclamation set her heart to hammering once more.

“What? What is it! What’s wrong?”

Norae had pushed back from her. She held the cloth limply in her fingers, staring at her with incredulity and a hint of fear.

“Norae! What?” Jordan craned her neck to try and see the patch Norae had been cleaning on the back of her shoulder.

“You are bleeding…” Norae whispered.

Jordan fixed her with a sarcastic expression. “Yeah, that tends to happen when you dig dirt out of wounds. Thanks for scaring me – I thought something was really wrong!”

Norae shook her head, mouth slack with unconcealed surprise. “No, Jordan, you are bleeding, look…”

She wiped the cloth across a thin line of blood trickling down Jordan’s back, handed it to her with trembling fingers. Jordan huffed, snatched it.

“What? You afraid I’m carrying some disease or-?”

She choked on the rest of her scathing remark as she opened up the cloth.

The blood – her blood – was silver as the light of the moon.