Upon his awakening, the first sight to greet him was a dvyen. He blinked, struggling to clear the haze of unconsciousness as the memory of the shadow-wraiths struck him like a physical blow. The faces of the thrashing guards flickered before his eyes, followed immediately by a sharp pang of dread for his uncle. He tried to bolt upright, only then realizing it was his uncle who held him by the other arm, pulling him toward safety. At that moment, a colossal shard of rock thundered down to their left—scarcely a few paces from the dvyen—before fortunately choosing the path toward the lake to spend its momentum. Lunging from the earth where he had thrown himself, the dvyen hauled Byuga up alongside Kungam and hoisted the youth onto his back, sprinting toward the stairs.

  The Prince of Jado felt a warm trickle upon his brow and reached up. Beneath the mat of his hair, the very bone of his skull had splintered; only now did the agony begin to register. A sickening vertigo took him as the blood flowed. He felt the stirrings of panic, yet he knew he must remain still while Balbun bore him. The limb-joints of the Bahysas were ill-suited for such burdens; they possessed barely half the strength of a dwarf or a garg. He went rigid, his heart hammering against his ribs as his fingers traced the depression where the bone had recently buckled.

  Despite the rain of stone, a mere handful of them managed to reach Gaigen. Of the hundred fishermen, only a dozen souls remained. They emerged swiftly from the tunnel, followed by Balbun, who had evidently been waiting in frantic anticipation. He commanded the dvyen to bear the prince to the infirmary. In the chaos, Kungam was shouting; Byuga was no master of lip-reading, but he caught the shape of the word North. As Balbun and the dvyens rushed after him, he saw Kungam and the guards ascending the tower with hurried strides. Unable to grasp the unfolding madness, Byuga let his head fall heavy against the back of the dvyen who carried him.

  It was Bodhi who set the bone before a monk could arrive. Once the initial fever of panic had subsided, Byuga raised a hand, asking what had transpired. None held an answer.

  “When did you descend?” Balbun asked.

  “I do not know. How long was I lost to the dark?” Byuga replied, his hands moving in sharp, agitated motions.

  “You go nowhere without me again. If needs be, you wait.”

  “My uncle offered the journey. Is his side not a place of safety?”

  “Regardless.” Balbun turned away to argue in hushed tones with the dvyens before dispatching one on an errand.

  “The letters spoke of this,” Byuga said, sitting up and using his hands to force Balbun’s attention back to him. “The hattoris of the other towers wrote of strange omens in the north—of growing perils. I believe this is tied to them. To the thing they whispered of.”

  “Not everything is a fireside tale; dismiss such thoughts from your mind,” Balbun replied dismissively, his hands flickering with practiced speed. But curiosity burned in Byuga. He looked toward the North. He did not fear the grave; truth be told, he hardly felt amongst the living as it was. He craved the path, to see the sights denied to him, to cast himself into the unknown.

  Once mended, they returned to the tower. Byuga’s shimlyndvyens remained at his flank. The tower was a reliquary of the unknown, filled with the leavings of masters who had preceded the Bahysas. Byuga’s quarters were indistinguishable from the rest; the lower seven tiers of the spire had been forged in an identical mold. At each cardinal point—North, South, East, and West—lay grand, hall-like chambers. The western hall belonged to Shyugan, while another had been granted to Byuga. The remaining rooms were arranged like two interlocking rings upon every floor, housing various offices and chambers of utility. Byuga had even glimpsed a room lined with rifles and pistols, though the Northmen looked with scorn upon the black-powdered toys of the South.

  He waited the length of the day. His uncle was locked in council with the commanders. When word finally came of the meeting’s end, Byuga sought him out. Balbun followed, a shadow that refused to detach, acting as if a new catastrophe might erupt at any heartbeat. When they reached Kungam’s door, Balbun even attempted to shoulder his way in first. The commanders stood waiting by the lift; a group must have just descended. Balbun knocked and entered, Byuga trailing in his wake. His uncle stood by a table set in the center of the room, looking like a man who had exhaled his last breath of hope.

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  “Shyugan Kungam.”

  “Do not stand on such ceremony with me, Balbun.” His uncle spoke to the dvyen, and Byuga waited for the translation. “My spirit is heavy; I have no need for distant titles.”

  “What have you resolved?”

  “An expedition, of course. For centuries, such a thing has not been witnessed. Gaigen was nearly brought to ruin. We must find the source of that power.”

  “It came from the Ice-Spear Mountains.”

  “So the men say.” As Byuga tugged at Balbun’s sleeve, the shimlyndvyen translated the exchange. Byuga looked at his uncle, but Kungam would not lift his gaze from the table.

  “The Kardams do not dwell there. They avoid the Ice-Spears.”

  “I know, Balbun. That is why the commanders are uneasy. The hattoris have long written of vanished patrols, and of Kardams arriving not as invaders, but as refugees fleeing the north. They run from something. We fear a new enemy, something unseen... and moreover, it concerns what befell the giants.”

  “How so?”

  “The giants, like the Kardams, have retreated into their ancestral holds and vanished. We have received identical reports from Bahr and Tahmar. Those who go forth do not return. The commanders believe it is the same shadow.” Byuga touched Balbun once more; the dvyen watched Kungam with a distracted air for a moment before translating. The heir of Gaigon felt a surge of adrenaline.

  “Could a new Rokon be rising?”

  “From the Ice-Spear Mountains? No.” Kungam ground his teeth. “Had a new Rokon risen, we would have felt the tremor of it. If such a thing walked, it would emerge from the Bone Cities, not the ice.”

  “You must send word to the Mashidas. To Gaigon as well.”

  “I shall.” Byuga raised his hands to Balbun as the dvyen turned to translate.

  “I wish to go,” Byuga said.

  “Absolutely not.” Kungam shook his head. “The Ice-Spear Mountains are the cruelest reach of the north. There are peaks of ice there a thousand feet high. We go with Kardam guides. The furs you would require would be so heavy you would struggle to walk. I am sorry, Byuga, but I cannot take you. I could never answer to your father if harm befell you.” When the words were signed to him, Byuga looked to Balbun.

  “I will go regardless. I will not remain here. Tell him.”

  “It cannot be, Byuga.” Kungam stepped closer. “It is my debt to your father to keep you whole, and my debt to you as your uncle. I cannot lead you into such a venture. You know this.” Balbun translated the words, then looked at the boy.

  “He is right. You know he is.”

  “And you know I am dying.” Byuga looked at him, then at his uncle, gesturing sharply for the translation. “This blight, whatever it may be, will kill me one day—or worse, it will leave me no better than a piece of driftwood. If I am to meet my end, I would have it be thus—not gasping for breath amidst the prayers of monks in some dusty cloister.” Kungam’s jaw tightened. A man will look at his own fingernails for an eternity rather than face a blinding truth; it was clear he did not relish having the veil torn away. “Please, Uncle. Balbun and the shimlyndvyens will guard me. I will be no burden to you.”

  Kungam stood and looked at Balbun. The shimlyndvyen remained silent, his neutrality bordering on tacit approval. Hope flared in Byuga. Finally, his uncle sighed and gestured toward Balbun. “I leave the choice to him. Let Balbun decide.” When this was relayed, Byuga knew there was only one soul left to sway. He turned to the dvyen, who raised his hands.

  “You have known me since my first breath. You have seen the rot progress. In a year or two, I may see nothing, hear nothing, feel nothing. I must do this. Rather than endure that slow fading, to die in lands I have never seen feels like a mercy.”

  “If something happens to you, I become a rimlen,” Balbun said, locking eyes with him. “We all become exiles. Your father would never allow us through his gates again. I cannot do that to my men.”

  “Then send the others away,” Byuga signed instantly. “If they go to my father on your orders, they will be spared. Come with me alone. I am no longer my father’s heir, in any case. He will not grieve me overmuch.”

  Balbun’s expression turned solemn as he raised his hands. “He cares for you far more than you realize, balum.” He paused, his fingers hovering. “Do you truly wish for this?” Byuga’s logic held a grim wisdom. Balbun could dismiss his men and take the punishment alone. He loved the boy; he had spent more time at Byuga’s side than the shimlyndvyen ever had, watching him grow, loving him as his own. He wanted him to find peace.

  “Yes.”

  Balbun drew himself up and turned to Kungam. “We are coming,” he said. “I will bid my men farewell. When do we depart?”

  “Within two days. Word must reach the other towers; we await news of the deputy shyugan setting out from Nin-Alumni. Preparations will be made in the interim.” He placed a heavy hand on Balbun’s shoulder. “I hope you have made the right choice, Balbun.” He touched Byuga’s cheek briefly before turning back to his table.

  As Balbun led him away with a hand upon his shoulder, Byuga felt the first cold stirrings of the journey ahead. He was ready.