THEY JOURNEYED WITH ME through the Wood Between until we came at last to Cozamaloti. The lock placed upon it by my brother was strong; anyone with less need than I would have turned away, for Cozamaloti Gate had taken the form of an enormous waterfall thundering over a precipice. To pass into Etalpalli, we would have to jump into the churning mist below.
But the Brothers Ashiun never hesitated. Their strange gifts, sword and lantern, gripped in their hands, they stood on either side of me, and together we leapt.
It was like stepping through a door. No fall, no rush of wind. Merely a step, and we stood on the borders of my city. And though I strained my eyes, I saw no wings brushing the sky. There was nothing but the hush of Cren Cru’s devouring and the call of his Twelve echoing faintly among the towers: “Send out your firstborn!”
Taking to the sky, I led the brothers swiftly through the winding streets to Itonatiu, where my brother waited. They climbed the winding stairs while I flew directly to the summit and found Tlanextu there.
Or rather, found what was left of him.
He still breathed, but only just. His was a body desiccated. I had never seen its like! The wrinkles on his hands, his neck, the sag of his cheeks, the shrunken hollows of his eyes, which were clouded and blind. His wings were nothing but broken stubs hanging from his shoulders. But he raised his head at the rustle of my approach.
“Is that you, sister?” he called.
I could not speak. I was too horrified by his appearance even to go to him, to tell him that I had done as he asked. I stood on the edge of Itonatiu’s roof, my wings spread for flight, and I said nothing.
“I am glad you have come,” Tlanextu said. With those words, he died, his final life drained away.
I was Queen of Etalpalli.
“I’m a boy,” said Mouse.
The stranger blinked. “Right,” he said. “And I’m the Queen of Etalpalli.”
“No, really,” said Mouse. “See? I . . . I cut my hair.”
The stranger’s wry expression deepened to one of incredulity. “Do you honestly think hair length is what makes the difference?”
Mouse blushed, gaze dropping. Then in a meek voice: “I, um. I bound myself up in certain . . . um, places.”
“A valiant effort.” The stranger sat down, and suddenly he was a cat, his ears flat and his eyes narrowed. “I am not the brightest light that ever shone in the vaults of heavenly inspiration,” he said. “But I do know my boys from my girls, just as I know my mortals from my immortals. You, my dear young woman, are as mortal as they come. You also bear an uncanny resemblance to my comrade-in-arms Dame Imraldera. And you evidently know something of her and her whereabouts. I am, as the proverb says, all ears.”
His fur-tufted ears cupped forward.
Mouse’s mouth opened and shut. Then in a whisper: “All right. I am a girl.”
Her disguise had been feeble at best. But she had clung to it in this foreign land of cold winds and unnatural speech, considering it the one shield between herself and all the fury this world could offer. Now, to be unexpectedly called out in a language not her own but which she understood, coming from the mouth of a creature that had a moment before been a man but was now most definitely feline, coming on top of nearly losing her life in a manner most violent to creatures more dreadful than her nightmares . . . it was too much.
She buried her face in her hands and burst into tears.
“Oh, dragon’s tail and teeth!” The cat sat, his tail curled about his paws. “You mortals are such a weepy lot,” he said and started grooming. “Let me know when you’re quite through, will you?”
It felt like hours but was probably mere minutes later when Mouse wiped her eyes on her wet sleeve, sniffed, and sat up. While she was probably the safest she’d been in a long time, this place was gloomier than the most dreadful dungeon she’d ever seen. How was it possible for a person to be so cold?
And overhead she still heard, echoing faintly down, the pound of goblin feet.
The cat stopped grooming and nudged her with a paw. “Perhaps I should start,” he said, his voice gentler than before. “My name is Eanrin. Sir Eanrin, Knight of the Farthest Shore. Bard and poet and brilliant songster.” He angled an ear. “You’ve heard of me?”
She shook her head.
He sighed and his whiskers drooped a little. “Time enough to amend that later. But first, who are you?”
“Mouse,” she said.
He sniffed. “What’s your real name?”
“I cannot tell you.”
“Why not?”
“Names bear too much power. The women of my order do not give their names freely to any who ask.”
“Women of what order?”