“Whispers are bursting through every crack and crevice in Shalli. I’ll hear it from your mouth. What happened?”

  Bendi, arms folded and with a face that screamed disappointment, loomed over Midan as he sat working. He tested a knot before moving to the next, repeating the motion. Of course, Midan knew what his mother was talking about. Everyone knew.

  Aelo was under Rosol for judgment. They had taken her eye covering before tying her out there. She couldn’t see without burning her eyes. Ten marks alone, blinded and suffering. It would only end after the harvest.

  It didn’t seem fair, though he fought that feeling. Midan had to have faith that there was a larger purpose at play, one that he couldn’t comprehend. The punishment seemed cruel and needless, but the Sanuwey had to know better than him. At least she was still breathing.

  “Are you alive?” Bendi snapped her fingers in front of his face.

  Midan ground his teeth together, back and forth, before sucking in a sharp breath.

  “Janna is fine, everything is fine. People should mind themselves,” he finished by glaring at his mother. “‘Tend thy own flame.’”

  He slumped against the zalbia’s base before throwing his head back against the smooth, white bark with a solid thunk. One of the tallest trees in the grove towered directly overhead, providing a bastion of shade. Its planar canopy extended far above the interlocking tops of the shorter zalbias far below it, and it swayed gently from a hot breeze. It was a dangerous tree. This zalbia was much like the one he and Aelo had first met beneath, the one that saved him. Was that intentional?

  “Do not quote scripture to me,” Bendi spat sharply. “‘Goodness binds us. To sin is to hurt the Whole.’ You let that”—Bendi waved her hand about as if trying to snatch the word from the air—“girl into your home. She struck an expectant—your pair, I’ll add. Then, you defend her to the Sanuwey? Tell me it isn’t true.”

  Another tug and another knot tested, he moved to the next knot in the line. The process had a rhythm, and he listened to his heart to keep time. He started testing faster, his fingers burning as he gripped and pulled the ropes too tightly.

  “It’s true.”

  Bendi gasped dramatically. Midan bit down hard, not trusting himself to speak. She pretended like she didn’t already know. It infuriated him. Others in the grove glanced by as they passed toting nets or empty baskets, but mostly, they kept to their workings. Lus was nearby, and the harvest wouldn’t wait for their gossip. Bendi sighed and perched in a squat at his level.

  “You’ll have no teeth if you carry on like that.” She tipped his head up by his chin, bringing them face to face. “Open up. Let me see the damage.”

  Midan yanked his head free. He forcefully stopped grinding, but the urge was painful. Didn’t she have things to do? The head of the harvest abandoned her duties for this? It had nothing to do with her. Bendi could read his growing frustration and rubbed her face, groaning.

  “We will talk about this later. I expect a lot from you, but that’s because you’re special. You have always been special.” Midan felt sick while his mother continued, oblivious. “I trust you’ll do the right thing. You always do.”

  That broke him. As Bendi moved to leave, he spoke up, but only loud enough for his words to carry to her and not the others who might have listened in.

  “You weren’t there when it happened.”

  “Of course, but—”

  “No! I’m speaking,” he said coldly. “You weren’t there.” Midan looked up as if in thought before continuing, his blood a torrent. “You never are, though, are you? Not with father, not now, and not ever.”

  Bendi was stricken, her eyes springing wells of tears. Distantly, a small voice shouted that he’d gone too far, but that voice was powerless. His mouth moved on its own.

  “Let’s keep it that way.”

  His mother looked startled and hurt as the tears pooled and fell. Her eyes begged him to take it back, to unsay what was said, but Midan couldn’t. The rage in his chest still smoldered, hotter than Rosol themself.

  “Okay.” Bendi shifted from foot to foot on the sandy stone. She turned and walked away as if in a daze. The winds started screaming as they whistled through the slots.

  As soon as she disappeared within the shadows and silhouettes of another shaded grove, Midan slammed his head back into the trunk painfully. He bit his arm and screamed into his robes. Midan tossed the tested net aside and got to his feet.

  The winds buffeted him as they happily squeezed into the bowl-like canyon grove, howling urgency and action. Lus was close.

  Midan moved out of the shade to peer upwards, between the gaps, to catch a thin, silver outline of Lus. Larger than Rosol at nearly twice as wide, Lus bit out a chunk of the scalding light to darken the land.

  The dance was here.

  Midan moved back into the shade to survey his climb. A single branch remained from old growths, extending up the tree like a staircase leading to the top. It led up and away from Shalli, far away from the whispers. It was time.

  The closest branch was nearly six paces high. Midan could prop up a ladder or throw over a rope, but he didn’t need it. Restlessness, frustration, shame, and rage had built into a well of energy to pull from, and he would use that.

  Closing his eyes, he focused and split into two, Mai and Dan. They were lifelong partners, once together but now distinct. Each breathed in life from inside the vessel they shared.

  “May the Guide bless our journey,” Mai said, placing a closed fist on their forehead to send out the prayer.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  Dan huffed.

  We don’t need prayers. They aren’t edible. Now, let's get going, hurry up!

  Mai cringed at Dan’s sinful thought but let Dan move them toward the trunk. They had to set their differences aside and work together, lest the split collapse.

  Dan eyed that first branch like a worm would the light.

  Blasted, it’s high. Are you sure this will work?

  Mai thought back annoyedly.

  It will if you do your part.

  Then let’s fucking do it.

  Before Mai could chide Dan’s mental swear, Dan burst toward the thick white trunk in a dead sprint, only slowing to let Mai scoop up the net Midan had thrown earlier. Each step was focused, as Dan ensured each fell in perfect cadence with the next.

  An instant from imprinting their face into the tough bark, Dan timed the final stride, planting a foot and exploding them upwards. Dan followed up by kicking off and up the tree, using the built-up momentum to stick his foot to the zalbia’s trunk momentarily. Dan pushed out and up hard, sending them soaring higher, but it wasn’t enough. They were going to be short.

  As they reached an apex, Mai swung a wide arc to wrap their net about the branch. Mai grabbed the net’s end with their offhand as it whipped back.

  “Good job,” Dan said.

  “I don’t need your praise. ‘Pride is the bitter root.’”

  Mai pulled them towards the thin branch using the net as an improvised scaffolding. Mai reached the branch and tightly gripped it, careful not to slip. Together, they worked atop with a swinging kip and pull.

  The sky steadily darkened, the growing winds making it difficult to balance. The others worked up the trees adjacent to theirs, slowly and carefully. Mai and Dan wouldn’t be doing that.

  “Let’s go,” Mai said, tying the net about their waist like a belt.

  Dan burst into a dead sprint up the winding branches, Mai keeping them balanced with outstretched arms. What should be a careful, methodical process became an all-out race to the top. They spiraled around the tree across the uneven, step-like branches. The sporadic spacing and pace had them sweating with exertion.

  Soon, they climbed higher than the main canopy, where the others began setting up their nets. As they emerged over the lip of the canyon, out of the valley basin, into the world of the gods, the winds nearly swept them off their feet. They swung to the trunk and hugged it tight.

  “We should go slow from here!” Mai screamed over the wind.

  A line of mountains peaked at the horizon in every direction, the craggy tips piercing upwards powerfully. The tallest knife, Mount Graol, stood twice above the closest second. Lus’s shadow had already enveloped the peak, its darkest edge encroaching slowly.

  You feel it, too—that pressure, Dan thought to Mai. It is a shadow on our soul. Let’s not wait for it to catch us.

  The mountains flattened into hills, which sunk into the slotted canyons above Shalli. Their home was a speck of dust in the wind. They were above it. They were above all of it.

  Together, they broke into a deep-set laugh. For once, they felt good.

  “Alright, let’s do this!” Mai said.

  The two made off together, higher and higher, faster with each step. The wind had them stumbling to keep balance as the zalbia’s swaying grew more pronounced. When they neared the grow plane at the top, one step had them scrambling for balance. They clung to the trunk as their world shifted, left to right.

  “We made it,” Dan whispered, their voice out of breath as they surveyed their surroundings. “Look! They’re staring.” Dan pointed to the others far below on the shorter canopies, a few pointing up at them. It looks like their stunt hadn’t gone unnoticed.

  “Let them,” Mai said. “Don’t lose focus. On me.”

  Mai chose a branch to climb outwards, away from the trunk’s center and into the open air. Dan wedged feet into the few spots where branches hadn’t grown, supporting their bottom half. A mistake here would be deadly, so they moved with careful purpose. Soon, they reached the edge.

  Dan released the foothold to let them dangle. Mai oriented them to face the open expanse. In time, with the sway, they heaved back, then forward, and swung themselves in a curled arc to land feet first onto the canopy.

  The split collapsed into itself, and Midan was left gasping for breath, careful not to get flung as he crouched to his knees. Sweat immediately streamed across his uncovered face. He let the burn sit, not bothering to temper the pain with Moment. It was how Aelo felt all day.

  The top of the canopy was black as if scorched by Rosol, though he knew that wasn’t the case. That black was cool and smooth, letting Midan crawl to the trunk that protruded from the canopy and wrap his legs around it to secure himself.

  The stump came up to his chest, short enough that he could look down into the hollow core without standing. A faintly opaque, thin, crystal-like membrane enclosed the trunk and sealed in the fruit. That pressure would be building as the zalbia sensed the darkness brewing.

  Shielding his eyes and squinting up, he saw Lus covering well over half of Rosol. The climb had taken too long. He needed to hurry.

  The land was dark enough that it was hard to see his hands as he worked off the net tied around his waist. Midan cast it over the trunk before hooking the end loops over nails lining the perimeter.

  The wind’s pitch intensified into a howl, sending the zalbia swinging violently. Midan clung to the stump for life, abandoning the net.

  “Shit!” Midan screamed, not feeling at all bad about it. If any time was a time for a minor sin, it was now. He squeezed his arms and legs so tightly around the trunk they burned.

  The shaking didn’t stop. Midan needed to secure the net, safety be damned. He split back into his splits.

  Dan stood and threw their torso over the orifice, using it as a fulcrum. One hand for each split, they worked loops in a blaze, rotating their body around to access each loop.

  A bassy rumble shook the tree, the land cloaked in cavern-like darkness. The wind slowed eerily to a breeze. Only a few unhooked loops remained when a loud cracking reverberated below their chest. It would have to be good enough.

  They threw themselves backward as an explosion of steam shot from the hollow trunk. The geyser pushed out with tremendous force. As blips tried to escape into the winds within the steam, they struck the ballooning net and ricochetted into loose folds at the side.

  Midan breathed in, gasping as his consciousness melded back into one. He flung himself backward and sprawled out beneath an unnaturally dark sky. Rosol tried to reach around Lus, creating a crown of amorphous, stringy red light. Soon, little specks of white pierced through the darkness as his eyes adjusted. Soon, the entire sky filled with those countless pricks of brilliance.

  “‘We came from the stars. As One, we can return,’” Midan quoted. That vast blackness was terrifying and awesome. Midan stayed there for a mark as the screeching geyser whistled to a halt, taking in their birthright.

  Eventually, the geyser stopped spewing with a sputter. Lus broke away, the dance ending as the land exploded with Rosol’s light. The winds picked up, and Midan was content to wait until they calmed before heading down.

  The wind’s screaming grew wild and frightened. No, not the wind; those were voices. More screams and shouts, distinctly human, carried up to Midan’s perch. Something was wrong.

  Midan unworked the loops and slung the net over the edge, feeding the fruits down with quick, practiced motions before tying a slip knot to the trunk. He followed down the down rope in a fury, the rushing air blurring his vision as his hands seared against the abrasive cord.

  Careful not to crush the fruits as the ground rushed to meet him, Midan swung out and off to land with a roll. The grove was ripe with chaos, a haze of bodies and cries. His focus cut through it all as he searched sight, sound, and smell for clues. His ears perked at the characteristic clatter of spear on spear in the distance. He took off towards it.