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Jino glanced around. “I was intrigued. I was entranced. I told Morado I was not returning with him to Corcannon. He argued with me for three days. Eventually I got tired of the quarreling, and I slipped away with one of my new friends in the middle of the night. I learned later that it was a week before Morado pulled anchor and went home.” Jino looked over his shoulder, toward the lush green lands behind them. “I have never regretted it.”
“What do you do here?” Stollo asked. “Since I assume you do not serve in a religious capacity.”
“It is generally women who act as guardians of Zessaya’s temples,” Jino said. “But I still feel called to similar service. I act as a teacher and a counselor, and I have learned the rituals for conducting weddings and consecrating the dead. I have no authority, but the guardians make use of me, and I am convinced the goddess is pleased at my devotion.”
“It’s a remarkable tale,” Pietro said. “It gives me some faith that even if the worst happens, there is some hope in the far future.”
Stollo looked at him. “What worst? What do you anticipate?”
But Jino knew. “The quakes are back, aren’t they? It’s time for another sacrifice?”
“Sacrifice?” Stollo repeated.
“It’s time,” said Pietro. “But all that’s left is one young woman who is so far childless. And once she’s gone—” He spread his hands.
“Wait,” Stollo said. “What are you talking about?”
Jino glanced at Stollo, then turned his gaze somewhat accusingly to Pietro. As if to demand why Pietro hadn’t shared this terrible, incriminating information. As if Jino believed all men should know it. Pietro sighed and answered. “When Cordelan gathered the scattered lands into one great mass, he linked them in some fashion to his own body. Every so often the lands begin to shift and push against each other, and all that calms them down is a libation of blood.”
“Blood?”
“It must come from the body of one of Cordelan’s descendants. And the world is fast running out of those.”
“But—how much blood? How often? What happens to—”
“And that is why this is such a terrible story,” Pietro interrupted him. “Because of the answers to those questions.”
Stollo simply stared at him.
Pietro turned back to Jino. “We are in dire circumstances, as you might imagine. Millions live on the continent, and the quakes are increasing in ferocity. Our options are limited and appalling.” He shrugged. “I thought if I came here, I might learn something. But I don’t know what there is to learn.”
“I could show you the cave where the lever for the eastern continent was located,” Jino offered. “If you think it might offer you any clues.”
Pietro arched his brows. “Probably not,” he said. “But I would like to see it, anyway. Is it nearby? Could we sail to it within a day?”
Jino gestured toward the ruined half of the island. “It’s here. Maybe a two-hour’s walk away.”
Pietro felt his face light up, and he jumped to his feet. “Then yes, I would like to see it.”
It required about thirty minutes of preparation before they could set off on their expedition. Cossi was not inclined to let strangers roam her land at will, so she wanted two of her own people to accompany them. And no one wanted to set off without provisions, so a few of Cossi’s companions hurried back up the hill to fetch food and water. Danner’s successful bargaining session had left him mellow, and he agreed to wait the half-day it would take them to return.
“Even if we don’t cast off until tomorrow morning, no harm done,” he said.
“You won’t leave without us,” Stollo said. “How would you explain that to my mother?”
Danner’s face didn’t relax from its usual stolid expression. “I can’t help it if you’re clumsy enough to fall overboard on high water.”
Stollo grinned at Pietro. “We’ve always been close.”
Eventually, their guides returned—a young woman named Dessa and an older man named Brin. Pietro thought they might be father and daughter, but no one explained their relationship. Like the others, they wore loose, light-colored clothing that allowed for easy movement. Brin’s tunic was completely plain, but Dessa’s featured bright splotches of red and green in what Pietro took to be a floral motif. She was small and wiry, with a wide grin and a curious expression. Brin seemed more taciturn, though not unfriendly. He handed everyone sacks of provisions with a few words of instruction.
“Everyone’s responsible for their own supplies,” Jino translated, hoisting his over his shoulder. “Let’s go.”
Dessa led the way up the left-hand path. The loose black rock made the climb hazardous, so they moved slowly and carefully in a single file. Pietro noted that large swaths of the path were choked by hardy weeds, indicating that few people came this way on a regular basis—and that the island was gradually reclaiming even its most devastated acres.
Once they crested the hill, what lay before them was an eerie landscape of almost uniform black and gray. But it had an odd, irresistible rhythm to it, of flat lands interrupted by fields of jagged, broken rocks and undulating rivulets as slick as ice. They stepped forward carefully, finding the smooth patches as treacherous as the sinks of loose gravel. On their right-hand side, the land canted downward from the peak of the mountain range, sometimes sharply, sometimes on a gentle grade, but Pietro always felt that his right leg was a few inches higher than his left. It added to the arduousness of the trek, the unreality of the whole outing.
The sun was high and the day, which had started out cool, grew quickly warmer. As they hiked along the black surface, Pietro began to feel unpleasantly hot. He hoped the stone beneath their feet didn’t heat up so much it burned through the soles of his shoes. They were only about twenty minutes from the beach when he reached into his sack to pull out a waterskin. He was glad to see there were several in the bag.
