My earlier presumption did not go unrewarded. Agamnu did indeed offer both of us rooms in his house, and when I suggested a feast for all my friends to celebrate my return, he agreed that it was an excellent idea. So it was not long afterwards that we were all gathered together in Agamnu’s courtyard. Agamnu himself, of course, Elerias and Bekrao, Adarzamu and Sāletinai, who bounced a baby boy in her arms, and at the center of it all Rosédan and I.

Before we told our story, I attempted to extract a promise from Agamnu that he would explain how he had injured his leg, but Bekrao held up his hand before Agamnu could say a word. “No,” he said, “I’ll them. It was my doing and my responsibility.” This was tantalizing enough that I was sorely tempted to hurry though my own story, but virtuously I resisted the temptation.

When we had finished, Agamnu was the first to speak. He slapped his good leg and proclaimed, “If a third of that is true, it’s the wildest story that I ever heard. I thought that I’d seen many countries and faced perilous magic, but I bow to you both.”

“It’s amazing that you made it back,” said Sāletinai quietly. “We must make a sacrifice to Thundargi.”

“Personally I don’t believe a word of it,” said Elerias. “But wherever you were, I’m glad you’ve come home.”

Elerias’s words provoked me to wonder to myself if Edazzo was indeed my home, or our home, rather. Certainly I had lived here longer than anywhere else since coming to this part of the world, and this feast was proof that my friendships here were dear to me. And yet there was perhaps a part of me that wouldn’t feel at home until I was under the snowy spires of Tarinzar. Then yet another part of me that refused to feel at home unless I was with Rosédan, and this was a part that had grown in importance over the past years.

As occupied as I was with these thoughts, I was broken out of them the second Bekrao began to speak. “You know that after Ripāti disappeared I dedicated myself to searching for her. I made a pest of myself with her father, I’m afraid. At first he put me off, but then suddenly his attitude changed, or so I thought. He invited me into his house and started to explain his work.” Bekrao’s gaze became distant and he was quiet for a time before he spoke again. “I don’t think this is the time or the place for me to expose any of Phumalluo’s secrets. You know a few of them already: how Phumalluo tried to call up one of the gray ghosts to inhabit the orphan girl we know as Ripāti; how one of the ancient Rela came instead.”

He reached for the cup of wine at his elbow and drained it, a process that I watched with some unease. I was familiar with Bekrao’s weakness for wine, and many times over the past years I had worried that he would be drowned in it. Briefly it had seemed that his love for Ripāti might help him, but with her gone he had apparently descended into the depths again. I saw that it would be my task to help him recover. With a newly sympathetic ear I listened to what were no doubt the fantasies of a wine-besotted mind.

“Though his motives are different, Phumalluo is just as interested in finding Ripāti as I am. He enlisted me to help him in his work. And I actually enjoyed it! I learned to read the secret tablets, where there are depths I never would have imagined. In the end we determined that if Ripāti hadn’t passed body and soul into the realm of the dead, if she was still able to return to this world, then she was in a place in between. It’s hard to express it in the words we have, but when I shut my eyes, I can see the symbols of the tablets dancing before me, laying it out as clear as day.

“We looked for locations where the place in between was especially close to the visible world, and we found one on the coast west of here, where some fishermen had recently discovered a cave filled with curious carvings. By this time, of course, it had become the object of the most ridiculous and absurd superstitions.” He said this loftily, and I couldn’t help but smile to remember how he had once prostrated himself before a doorpost that he had mistaken in his inebriation for a god. “The real problem was the petty lord of the area, who didn’t want us poking around. I don’t really blame him: apparently Phumalluo had done something to offend him. Phumalluo has no tact whatsoever.”

“And that is where I come in,” said Agamnu.

Bekrao glanced at him, then said, “Lord Agamnu was gracious enough to help us in this matter.”

“Of course I was. Ripāti was an intriguing young lady. Besides, both you and she were friends of Kësil.”

“Agamnu offered to accompany us into the cave.”

“I insisted,” said Agamnu. “Though I suppose that I’d be better off if I hadn’t.”

“The cave could only be entered at low tide, when the water had receded enough to reveal a narrow entrance winding back into the rock. The path steadily inclined upwards to the, well, mausoleum I suppose is the best word for it. Then there was a series of larger rooms with alcoves holding skeletons, though I suspect that the fishermen had been taking bones to use as relics.”

“I doubt it,” said Agamnu. “They were too afraid of being haunted by vengeful ghosts.”

“Well, someone had been messing with the bones. What Phumalluo found most interesting wasn’t the real bodies but the statues that were set in every corner. And there was something in their painted faces that did remind me of Ripāti. I know it’s silly. Maybe I was just seeing what I wanted to see in the dark.”

“What I found most interesting was the hole in the wall.” Agamnu’s voice was so quiet and deep that I could barely hear it. “Too small for anyone but a child to crawl through. A small child.”

“When we set a lamp through it,” said Bekrao, “we could see that it was filled with tiny skeletons. Probably that’s where the children were buried.”

“Maybe so. But maybe there was another reason for it.” I was curious what Agamnu thought this other reason was, but he fell silent. When it was apparent that Agamnu had nothing more to say, Bekrao spoke again.

“I remember that Phumalluo was inspecting the statues when suddenly he turned to us and told us to go back into the first room. I’d never really trusted him, so of course I demanded to know why. His explanation was that with what he was about to do, certain creatures, spirits of shadow and fear, would leak into our world if Agamnu and I didn’t hold them back.”

At this dramatic point in the tale, Elerias rose and apologized, saying that it would be best if he got back to his family. “I will regret not hearing the rest of your fanciful tale, but I have responsibilities at home,” he said. Though, personally, I suspect that he was secretly alarmed by the dark turn Bekrao’s story had taken. “By the way, Kësil, you’re different than you were before. Rosédan is a good influence on you, I think.” I wasn’t quite sure what that was supposed to mean.

Bekrao continued once Elerias had gone. “I didn’t trust him, but what other choice did I have? Agamnu and I went back and waited. We heard Phumalluo reciting words we couldn’t understand—at least I couldn’t—and occasionally call Ripāti’s name. After a while, they came out from the tunnels in front of us. They were black in color and serpentine in shape, and they wrapped around our limbs until we could barely move. It was like one of those dreams where the dreamer is half-awake but unable to move; it was probably the most terrifying experience of my life. Thank the Father Above for Agamnu. He was stronger than me and broke free himself before helping me. Then things were easier: the creatures were slow enough that we could avoid their grasp now that we knew it was coming. They were trying to get into the room where Phumalluo was, I think, but when they were aware of us they went after us instead.”

“Did one of them break Agamnu’s leg?” Rosédan asked in a soft voice.

“After a manner of speaking,” said Bekrao. He gave Agamnu a sideways glance, then said, “It was one of the last creatures that did it. It was smaller than the others and unlike them it wasn’t silent, but made a sound like a lamb crying.”

“A lamb, yes,” said Agamnu. “But there are those who make greater sacrifices, hoping for greater rewards.”

“It went straight for Agamnu and coiled itself around him, making the most hideous wailing. By the time I reached him, it had already broken his lower leg and was crawling up towards his thigh. As soon as I touched it, however, it dissolved into cloud and shadow.

“Not long after that Phumalluo’s voice fell quiet. When he emerged from the inner rooms, he wasn’t alone. She was with him, Ripāti in the flesh, though there were parts of her body that seemed to be encased in stone, which cracked and fell off as she walked. For a moment our eyes met and that moment was like sweet wine. Then Phumalluo said something to her that I couldn’t hear and the two of them hurried past us without a word.

“I called out after her. When she turned back, I thought for a moment that she would stop and remain with me, but it was only a moment. Then she disappeared through the entrance, following the man who called himself her father.”

“He would have chased after them, I believe,” said Agamnu once Bekrao had been quiet for a while, “but I regret that he had to help me instead.”

“And I regret that I have a favor to ask you, Kësil,” said Bekrao. “Phumalluo refuses to let Ripāti talk to any of us, and indeed he barely talks to us himself. But I was hoping, foolishly maybe, that you might be able to persuade him to let me see Ripāti.”

“Why would that be foolish?” I wondered. “Of course I’ll go. I’m sure he’ll listen to me.” Out of the corner of my eye I saw Rosédan raise an eyebrow at me. It’s not clear to me what she meant to communicate by that.

Early the next morning I went on my errand to Phumalluo’s house. I was surprised when Phumalluo himself greeted me at the door and invited me in. I had expected one of his many servants to do so, as it had been on the previous occasions I had visited him. “I can’t say I wasn’t anticipating this visit,” he said as we sat down inside. “I’d heard that you’d returned. Let me tell you right away that Ripāti belongs to me. I bought her body, I summoned her soul, and I made the union between them. I intend to learn everything I can from her about the lords of magic who once walked these shores.”

“The Rela,” I said without thinking, a rarity for me.

“Yes, you’ve heard that name. Ripāti has been close-lipped so far, but I will make her talk. One way or another, she’ll learn that everything she is belongs to me.”

“You will do no such thing,” I said. The casual way in which Phumalluo spoke infuriated me, I admit.

“Oh? Let me tell you who you are, Kësil. You are a fool. You wander from place to place and friend to friend, relying on others for everything. You understand nothing of what you see. And if anyone is more foolish than you, it’s Bekrao. Turn Ripāti over to you? It’s the most absurd thing I can think of.”

I saw that logical persuasion was useless, if Phumalluo was so set against me. I would simply have to employ other rhetorical methods. I cleared my throat, did my best to loom, and said, “You call me a fool, but what are you? What kind of man treats his daughter as you have done?”

“How dare you speak to me in such a fashion? Who do you think you are?”

“Who am I? I am an emissary from the fair folk of the north. I have hunted with the great wolf. I have seen and spoken to the gray lord face to face. I have seen the Crocodile of Dūrī in its death throes and have beheld the abomination of Dumun. I was there when the Lord of Dreams unveiled himself and I was there when the blighted lands were blighted by a demon’s curse. I have seen the world end time after time and I have survived. Do you think you, a petty lord in a petty city, can possibly keep my friends Bekrao and Ripáti from joining together? There is nothing, nothing in this world that can stand in their way.”

I felt very proud of myself after making this speech, but my Bird gave the sharp warning trill that generally means it disapproves of something I’ve said or did. As much as I am grateful to the Bird, however, I refuse to submit all my actions to its approval. I am its master, not the other way around.

In any case, my speech seemed to have a much more profound impact on Phumalluo, indeed, more profound than I had expected. He turned pale and took a step backwards, but after a moment he seemed to brace himself and opened his mouth to give some retort. Then the door under the steps opened, there was a wave of cool air, and Ripāti came forth.

“Ripāti,” Phumalluo began to say, but his eye met mine and he broke off.

“I thought I was done with this world,” she said. Oddly, she sounded more irritated than anything else. “I thought I was ready to rest in the bosom of my family, but living men continued to call me back. So here I am, caught between two fools.”

“As Phumalluo has pointed out,” I said, “I am a fool myself. So you can trust me when I say that of the two fools, it is Bekrao who loves the young woman Ripāti more than he loves the relic of the Rela. The question that I can’t answer is this: which one are you?”

Ripāti stood, poised on her toes, for a second, then she relaxed and took a few quick steps to put me between her and Phumalluo. “Well,” said Phumalluo, “we were never friendly before, but today you’ve made an enemy you’ll regret.”

I could have repeated my grand statements about where I’d been and what I’d seen, but I decided that it would be more prudent at the moment to withdraw. I made some polite remarks, which Phumalluo didn’t seem to appreciate, and left together with Ripāti.

“I’ll have to learn to be human again,” she told me as we walked up the street towards Agamnu’s house. “It’s been such a long time, many centuries I think, though I was asleep for much of that time.”

“I’m sure that Bekrao will be eager to help you,” I said. She gave me a long look that I couldn’t interpret at all. Then she nodded and laughed, but the sound of it was less like a woman’s laughter than it was like the babbling of a stream.

When we entered the courtyard, Bekrao sprang up from his seat and was halfway to Ripāti before he seemed to recall his reserve and approach her more slowly, his eyes politely lowered. But his reserve broke almost at once and he ran to embrace her, so that the only polite lowering of eyes was mine. I suppose I should have remained as a chaperone, but I was too embarrassed to do anything but mutter something about how I was very happy for them and go back inside.

Rosédan had been upstairs discussing something or other with Sāletinai when I had passed through the room with Ripāti. But when I returned, she was there waiting for me. Immediately I took her hands, inspired by something in her eyes, maybe, or possibly by Bekrao and Ripāti’s embrace out in the courtyard. “Rosédan,” I said, then hesitated, uncertain of what to say next.

“So,” she said. “When do you want to get married?”

After all our travels together it seemed strange that we were finally to be wed. It was a day I had alternately dreamed of and despaired of, and now that it was here at last it was less than real, like a dream from which I was to awaken at any moment. As we were both strangers in Edazzo, and our families were hundreds of years away, our friends would have to suffice. In the days preceding the wedding, my Bird seemed to be more active than usual, chirping loudly in my head whenever I saw Rosédan. There was one especially odd thing it did, which was that every time I turned to the north, the Bird produced a curious keening sound that I had never heard from it before.

I hasten my readers past all the tedious preparations, regretting that I wasn’t able to do the same for myself. It all seemed so unnecessary, and besides, Rosédan was growing more and more beautiful each day.

But finally the day arrived. The wedding rituals of the Parakō are not complicated ones; they are certainly simpler than the various rites and oaths celebrated in Tarinzar, and they were simplified even further by our refusal to invoke any of the Parakō gods. “What will you invoke then?” a frustrated Bekrao asked.

“Heaven.”

“The Flame.”

“Well,” he said after a moment, “I suppose strange lands have strange gods.”

I remember how Rosédan and I stood in Agamnu’s courtyard, hand in hand, and recited certain words. I remember that my chief emotion was neither anticipation or nervousness (both of which I had expected), but simply a sense that, as I looked into Rosédan’s dark eyes, I was finally at home. I would not need to wander again.

But even as I thought this, my head began to pound and the Bird gave a strained cry. Then darkness and silence claimed me. The last thing I remember is Rosédan calling my name.