The urge to get up, to go to them, was almost overpowering. Winter fought it down, tasting bile at the back of her throat. They’ve survived this long without me. But it wasn’t that she thought she could help, not really. It was a primal instinct to share their danger, as she had so often in the past, that tugged at her.
Something stung her eye, and she rubbed at it. Not tears, but flying grit. Sand. The wind rose, swirling into a funnel, and solidified into the masked shape of the Steel Ghost.
Alex jumped to her feet eagerly. Winter guessed the waiting hadn’t been any easier on her. “You’ve found it?”
“I believe so,” the Ghost said. “To the north, behind the enemy camp, there is a ruined castle. I sensed the presence of the Beast’s core, and it did not appear to be moving. A large number of the creature’s bodies waited nearby.”
“That has to be it,” Winter said. “Let’s get started.”
She looked down at Sothe, who was still sleeping peacefully on the pyre. Part of her, she had to admit, had been hoping they’d somehow manage to avoid this. Let Sothe wake up tonight and find out we didn’t need her after all. But they’d never make it to this castle if they had to fight their way through half of Janus’ army.
Slowly, she dug out her matches. Alex watched, silent, and the Ghost’s masked face was as expressionless as always. Winter struck a match, held it for a moment, and looked down at Sothe.
“Thank you,” she said, and touched the flame to the kindling.
The logs, soaked in oil, caught in moments, and the heat built rapidly. Winter had to take a step back, shielding her face, as flames leapt into the air, building into a column of smoke. She caught a whiff of burning flesh, unpleasantly like cooking meat, before it was thankfully buried under a rush of woodsmoke. Blinking, Winter backed away farther.
“How long does it take?” Alex said, eyes fixed on the flames.
“I wasn’t in a position to count precisely last time,” Winter said. “But—”
Deep in the heart of the fire, something went crunch. Logs shattered and split, the pyre breaking apart and spilling glowing sparks across the ground. At the center of the flames, a figure stirred, rising to its feet. Enormous dark shapes hung at her shoulders, the shadows of wings. The Ghost raised a hand, and sand rained down on the pyre, smothering the flames and embers. A moment later, the smoke cleared away.
The guardian resembled Sothe, but streamlined, inessential detail weathered away. Her lithe body was smooth and unlined, with skin the gleaming white of polished marble, shot through with darker veins. Her clothes were gone, though her naked form was as sexless as a mannequin. Her hair was gone, too, and her face was only a shadow of what it had been—?two indentations for eyes, a slight bulge of a nose, and no mouth, as though a sculptor had wanted to give the suggestion of humanity without the substance. Her wings, rising up behind her, were not feathered but perfectly smooth, like a ship’s sail in a strong wind.
“God Almighty,” Alex said. “She’s...”
Beautiful, Winter thought, and monstrous. When she moved, it was with the catlike grace Sothe had always displayed, but there was something deeply unnatural about watching a stone surface flex and bend. And when she was still, she was perfectly still, with no fidgeting or breath to disturb her, so that when she moved again it was like watching a statue spring to life.
“Sothe?” Winter said. Her voice came out in a whisper.
Sothe nodded.
“Are you...?” She shook her head. She’d wanted to say “all right,” but what was the point of that? Winter swallowed hard. “Can you carry me and Alex?”
Sothe flapped her wings once, producing a down rush of air that set sand and ash to swirling. Then she nodded again.
“I will lead the way,” the Ghost said. If the sight of the guardian unnerved him, it was invisible behind his mask. He dissolved into a column of sand, rising in a swirling wind out of the clearing, remaining visible as a smudge overhead.
“How...?” Alex said.
Sothe walked to Winter, bent over, and opened the small pack she’d left on the ground. It contained a number of leather straps, each laden with a complement of knives in various sizes. She put them on, her marble fingers dexterous as ever, buckling them around her stomach, her thighs, and her forearms. Then she gestured for Winter and Alex to come close.
They obliged, shuffling awkwardly together. Sothe walked behind them and slipped one arm around Winter’s waist, then the other around Alex’s. Sothe’s skin was warm, but with the polished feel of stone, like a rock that had spent all day in the sun. Winter wriggled, trying to settle her weight more comfortably, the arm around her staying as steady as an iron bar. Sothe looked down at her and cocked her head.
“Alex?” Winter said. “Are you ready?”
“No,” Alex said. “But I’m not likely to get any readier.”
“Go ahead,” Winter said to Sothe.
The great wings snapped out, gathering air beneath them, and Sothe rose from the ground. She moved slowly at first, wings beating steadily, hoisting them up to the treetops of the clearing and then beyond. Oddly, Winter felt no fear of falling. There was such a sense of power in Sothe’s arm, in the wide sweep of her wings, that it seemed impossible.
If anyone down there is looking up, they’re going to think they’ve gone mad. Fortunately, the soldiers below had plenty to distract them. From this vantage point, Winter could see Janus’ troops massing to attack on the left flank, battalions marching in column to get into formation, teams of horses pulling cannon. In between friendly and enemy lines, light cavalry skirmished, horsemen riding back and forth and firing at one another with carbines. Each shot reached her as a single distinct sound, like a distant handclap, almost lost in the continuing rumble of gunfire from the north.
Saints and martyrs. What I would give to be able to command battles like this. It was the perspective every general dreamed of, hovering above the world like a god. The land unrolled like a living map, full of toy soldiers and cannon and towns. She glanced up at Sothe, to remind herself of what it had cost to gain this vantage. The guardian’s nearly featureless face was set forward, her eyes on the smear of swirling sand that was the Steel Ghost.