"Will you give us Sergius's golden crook?" said the woman. "So that we can defeat the daemon and send it back to the Realm of Shadows?"

Yephimy sighed. If he refused, they might suspect him of harboring some secret sympathy with the Drakhaoul. And yet, to hand over one of the shrine's most sacred treasures to these strangers . . .

"I cannot answer for my brothers without consulting them," he said. "But I offer you the hospitality of the monastery while we discuss your proposition."

The man leaned forward and placed his hand on the abbot's arm, staring intently into his face. "This matter is urgent. I beg you, Abbot, do not discuss too long."

"What have you done, Kiukiu? Why have you brought him him here?" here?"

Malusha stood in the doorway of her cottage as if trying to prevent them from entering. Her eyes were dark, narrowed in an expression of bitter hatred and distrust.

"Him?" Kiukiu rubbed her eyes. She had the oddest feeling that she had just flown across the moors from Kastel Drakhaon, skimming high like a grey-winged goose returning to its spring breeding grounds. "H-how did I get here?"

"What have you done to my grandchild?" Malusha hurried across the courtyard, scattering hens in front of her, and put her arm around Kiukiu. "What spell have you laid on her?"

Kiukiu slowly realized that Malusha was not talking to her anymore, but to Kaspar Linnaius, who stood silently beside her.

"This is Kasp-" she began.

"I know who he is," Malusha said, still staring frostily at Linnaius. "And what he is. But I don't know what brings him here when he's quite aware he's not welcome."

"I come on the Emperor Eugene's business," said Linnaius. "The same Eugene who was patron to Jaromir Arkhel while he lived, and is now godfather to his son, Stavyomir."

"His son?" Malusha seemed utterly confounded. "An heir?"

"The Emperor has named young Stavyomir the next Arkhaon of Azhkendir. I thought you might be aware of the fact, as you served the Arkhel family for so many years."

Malusha was silent a moment. Then she said, "I think you'd better come in."

"Why didn't you tell me, Kiukiu?" Malusha whispered angrily as Linnaius walked past them and into the cottage. "About the Arkhel child?"

"I didn't know for sure," Kiukiu whispered back, cowed by her grandmother's wrath.

"And now you've brought that cursed wind-mage here."

"I didn't bring him! He brought me."

"Don't argue, child. What does he want?"

"Information for the good of the empire," said Linnaius. In spite of his great age, his hearing was obviously still extremely acute, thought Kiukiu resentfully.

"It'd better be for the good," Malusha said, shutting the door hastily as one of the hens attempted to follow them inside, "seeing as how you had the ill manners to break through my veil of concealment."

The instant the Magus entered the cottage, there had been a stirring and a shuffling among the roosting snow owls perched high above their heads. Linnaius glanced up and Kiukiu saw him blink in astonishment.

"And now you've disturbed my lords and ladies," complained Malusha. "They're very suspicious of strangers and they get very moody at this time of year. You don't want to go startling them; they can be vicious when they've got a clutch of eggs to protect."

"Believe me, I have no intention of harming them," Linnaius said, fastidiously drawing his gown up to avoid a pile of owl droppings. "Or their chicks."

"So what is the information your Emperor wants from me?"

"You cast out the daemon-spirit, the one that calls itself Drakhaoul?"

"I did," said Malusha stiffly.

"That was a considerable achievement."

"I could not have done it if Lord Gavril had not wished it so," Malusha said, still coldly formal.

"But you did not send it back to the Ways Beyond?"

"And where would I have taken it in the Ways Beyond?"

Kiukiu sensed a growing tension between the two. A glowing stick on the fire suddenly snapped, sending a hiss of sparks up the chimney, and she jumped.

"It was not a dead soul, Kaspar Linnaius, seeking expiation for its sins." Malusha's voice grew softer. "Even that dread place of dust and despair that we dare not name is not its true home."

"Then"-Linnaius drew closer to her-"what is is it?" it?"

"Why do you need to know?" Malusha asked slyly.

"There seems to be a connection between the daemon and the Emperor's young daughter." For the first and only time, Kiukiu heard Linnaius falter. Was it possible that this cold, calculating old man still nourished a little warmth in his heart?

Malusha shrugged. "What's that to us?"

"She insists the daemon is still at large somewhere in our world. And now that there is an Arkhel heir for you to protect-"

"I cast the daemon out from Gavril Nagarian, but it was too strong for me. It fled before I could destroy it."

"Then this will interest you. I have learned from my researches that only one man was ever strong enough to imprison such aethyric daemons: Serzhei of Kerjhenezh."

"Your point, wind-mage?"

"I have not the skills to talk to the dead, but you and your granddaughter-"

"Have you any idea of the risk in such a venture?" Malusha shook her grey head. "Serzhei is long dead. He has traveled far, deep into the Ways Beyond-"

"I'll do it," said Kiukiu suddenly, impulsively.

"You'll do no such thing!"

"I'll do it if you let me visit him, him," Kiukiu said to Linnaius.

"Him? Oh no. You're not still hankering after the Nagarian boy?" Malusha turned on the Magus. "What nonsense have you filled her head with?"

"A visit can be arranged." The Magus's pale eyes rested on Kiukiu.

Malusha seized hold of Kiukiu's hand and pressed, none too gently, on each of her fingertips in turn.

"Ow!" Kiukiu snatched her hand away.

"Soft as butter," her grandmother said disapprovingly. "When was the last time you did any practice, hm? As I thought."

"I couldn't play the gusly in the kastel," Kiukiu protested. "Not with all those Tielen soldiers around."

"I would prefer to interrogate Serzhei myself," said the Magus.

"And well you might, but what you're asking is not only dangerous, it's very difficult."

"So you're saying such a meeting is beyond your abilities?"

Kiukiu heard the challenge and knew that her grandmother would be unable to resist.

Malusha glared at the Magus. "Do you know nothing of our craft? I can only bring a dead spirit back to this world with a lock of hair, a bone, or some such thing to anchor it here. Unless you're willing to offer your body for it to inhabit? I thought not. And I'm not in the business of creating spirit-wraiths, so don't even ask." She glanced accusingly at Kiukiu, who felt her cheeks burning at the memory of what she had once unwittingly done.

Malusha had worked steadily since winter to repair her broken gusly; now she took it down from the shelf and unwrapped it from its brightly colored wool blanket. Kiukiu found a layer of fine dust had settled on her instrument; she gave a surreptitious puff to blow the dust away.

"Ha!" Malusha said, missing nothing. "So now we shall have to waste valuable time tuning this neglected instrument." She handed Kiukiu the little iron key she used to tighten slack strings. "And you'd better use a plectrum or you'll cut your fingers."

It felt odd to Kiukiu to sit and hold the gusly again after so many long weeks of housework at the kastel. Just to pluck the strings and feel the resonances reverberate through her body reminded her of what she had been forced to bury deep within her. Now she felt a sense of liberation. Here she had no need to pretend; she could be who she truly was: a Spirit Singer.

When the tuning was finally done to her satisfaction, she looked up from the gusly and saw her grandmother gazing at her intently, the firelight glinting in her eyes.

"We're going together, child. You've never had to travel so deep into the Ways before. There are dangers you've never even imagined in your darkest dreams."

Kiukiu nodded, secretly relieved not to have to go alone.

"And while we're gone," Malusha said, turning to Linnaius, "you can make sure the fire doesn't go out. And no mage-mischief while we're away, or my lords and ladies will peck your eyes out." She picked up the gusly and struck a slow succession of notes. "Kiukiu, copy me. This is the Golden Scale. We'll need it where we're going."

"The Golden Scale?" Kiukiu had forgotten until now that she still had much to learn. And she needed all her concentration to copy the unfamiliar sequence of pitches that Malusha was plucking. Yet she did discern a golden quality to the music they were creating. The air seemed to glow with the richness of the sound. A gilded mist filled the little room and the firelight grew dim, receding until there was only the throb of each note, as warm as rays of evening sunlight, and she was rising through sunset clouds in a glory of bronze and gold.

"I've never been here before, have I?"

"This is the deepest I've ever taken you, child." Malusha was skimming upward beside her, and now Kiukiu saw her grandmother as a tall young woman again, her braided hair brown, her voice strong and true, her back straight.

"We could be sisters," Kiukiu said with heartfelt emotion. "I always wanted a sister."

"Pay attention!" Malusha snapped. "Even here, you must be on your guard. Even here, Lost Souls can waylay and entrap you to feed on your life force. Never forget-we are intruders."

"A bossy older sister," Kiukiu whispered. And then the burnished clouds parted and a distant sound breathed through the air like a perfumed breeze.

"I can hear music," said Kiukiu, gazing around her. "Singing. Such strange, beautiful singing . . ."

"This is going to be harder than I thought."

"Why?" Kiukiu felt herself drawn toward the sound of the singing. She began to drift in the direction of the music.

Malusha stopped her.

"But I want to go and join in-"

"We're trespassing here to help your Lord Gavril, though heaven knows why; he doesn't deserve it for what he did to you. Now stay close and don't wander off."

Ahead of them, crowning a little hill, stood a high-walled garden; Kiukiu could see tall cedars rising above the weathered stones of the wall as well as oaks and white-flowering chestnuts. They reached the top of the hill and found themselves in front of finely wrought, gilded iron-work gates.

As Malusha raised her hand to push the gates open, two gold-armored warriors suddenly appeared, barring their way with crossed scimitars. Half-blinded by the light radiating from their faces, Kiukiu threw up one hand to shield her eyes.

"We are pilgrims from Azhkendir," said Malusha. "We seek counsel from the Blessed Serzhei."

"Serzhei's work in Azhkendir is complete," said one of the warriors. His voice rang out like a brazen trumpet call. "Why do you disturb his rest?"

"A daemon-warrior is at large in our world. It calls itself the Drakhaoul."

Kiukiu ventured a glance through her fingers at the warriors. Though light still shimmered around them like wings of golden flames, she managed a glimpse of their faces, at once terrible and beautiful, as they consulted each other with a look.

One slowly pointed to the ragged scars on Kiukiu's throat. Kiukiu gave a little cry when the scarred skin began to burn, as though a fiery liquid had been dripped onto her body. She looked down and saw the scars were glowing. Her hands flew, too late, to cover her throat.

"You bear the mark of a Drakhaoul."

"All the more reason for us to seek Serzhei's help," said Malusha dryly.

"You know well enough, Spirit Singer," said the first, "that such a thing is forbidden."

"Why?" burst out Kiukiu.

"You are trespassers here. You must return to the world of the living."

"Very well," Malusha said, though Kiukiu heard not the slightest hint of resignation in her voice. "Come, child." She strode off away from the gate, Kiukiu hurrying after.

"So we're just going to give up?" Kiukiu cried.

"You heard, Kiukiu, we're trespassers." But Malusha was not going back down the hill, she was skirting the edge of the walled garden.

"Ah." Kiukiu understood what her grandmother intended; here, in the Ways Beyond, walls were not necessarily a barrier to Spirit Singers. "But won't they they come after us?" She glanced uneasily over her shoulder, expecting to see the winged guardians swooping down on them. come after us?" She glanced uneasily over her shoulder, expecting to see the winged guardians swooping down on them.

"Without a doubt. But is that going to stop us?" Malusha stopped and gazed up at the wall. "It shouldn't be too difficult to shin up here; there are plenty of toe-holds." And she started up the wall, grunting as she pulled herself aloft.

Kiukiu could not help giggling. Her grandma was climbing over the wall, just like a little girl scrumping apples!

"Don't dawdle," Malusha hissed from the top and disappeared over the other side. Kiukiu began to climb, and though the stones grated against her fingers as she clung on, she found she could clamber upward as easily as if she weighed nothing whatsoever. She jumped down, landing beside Malusha on gravel between the tall chestnuts.

They stood in a formal garden with knots and winding paths and intricately cut topiary. The sound of running water came from fountains playfully carved to resemble whiskered carp, which sprayed crystal jets into the air from their pursed mouths. Kiukiu recognized herbs growing in the beds as they walked past and heard the summery droning of bees among the cloudy banks of lavender.

"It's just like the monastery gardens back home," she said, surprised.