I sat numbly for a quarter of a trek, simply watching the column of ash and smoke drift away from the mountains. I finally roused myself and opened my pack. I unwrapped the egg carefully and held it up to examine it. The surface was unmarred, and it gleamed in the light of early afternoon, its color shimmering between dark blue and turquoise. I gave it a brief caress without thinking.

  “You poor thing,” I said. “Let’s get you home.”

  I bundled it up once more, shouldered my pack, and set out.

  I had worried that I would forget or confuse the way to the Place of Birthing, but whatever magic Raskana had done was powerful. The destination gleamed in my mind like a miniature sun, beckoning me toward the depths of the Dragon’s Teeth range. I climbed a small rise and stood there, picking out a route through the twisted hills and arroyos. When I had marked enough landmarks to satisfy myself, I set out towards the east.

  There was no longer any trail to speak of. I had to pick my way through scrub, over scree slopes, and past boulders that had spilled down near-vertical slopes. I was forced to backtrack on more than one occasion when I entered a blind canyon or faced an impassable cliff face. The land was parched, with dry creek beds, but no sign of flowing water or ponds. I kept an eye out for patches of greenery or game trails but saw nothing. My water flask was only half full when I found a small seep at the foot of an overhang. I dug down with my hands and let the hole slowly fill with water. I cautiously sipped from my hands; it was slightly bitter but otherwise tasted safe. I drank the remaining fluid in my canteen and refilled it handful by handful. Then I walked on.

  I stopped when dusk came, and hiking became too risky. Camp was a hollow in the side of a cliff; too small to be called a cave but sheltered from the wind. I set up my tarp to conceal me from casual view and raised a small fireball for warmth. The night was chill, and I pulled on my jacket and draped the blanket over my shoulders. The egg lay on my lap and I rested a hand on it and stroked it gently.

  “It’s you and me now, kid. We just have to keep going.” I gave it another pat. “Maybe two days, if we’re lucky.”

  The egg seemed to warm slightly, but I thought that must be my imagination. I kept on rubbing it absentmindedly.

  “The trick is to not get stuck in another blasted blind canyon, or on the edge of a mesa.”

  There was a surge of heat from the egg. I looked down in alarm and gaped. The surface was swirling as if an artist was stirring a mixture of paints. Whorls and helices of greens and blues circled the surface, dancing in an almost fractal tessellation. The pattern expanded to fill my entire visual field, and I seem to float away from my campsite. Somewhere in the miniature cosmos of the egg, I felt someone reaching out to me. I called out without thinking.

  “Hello?”

  There was a pause, and then: “Mother?”.

  “I—” I stared at my lap. The cavern reappeared, and I heard the wind whispering past the opening and rustling down the canyon side. The egg was now covered in a complex pattern of arcs and spirals. On impulse I opened my magesight and looked at the surface. It shone so brightly that I had to blink tears from my eyes. When my vision cleared, I saw the glow lit up the whole campsite and the opposite side of the canyon.

  A thick cord ran from the egg to my chest.

  “Mother?” This time the voice was anxious.

  “Ah—” I swallowed. “Right here, kid.”

  “Oh, good.” I felt a purr of contentment, and then a sense that a small animal had raised its head to peer around. “What is this place?”

  I looked around. “It’s a little shelter. We’re spending the night here.” I blinked. “How can you see anything?”

  “Because you are.” The voice sounded puzzled. There was an odd feeling, as though someone was tugging on me. “Why did you stop rubbing me?”

  “I, uh, was distracted.” I began stroking the egg once more. “What do you remember?”

  There was a long pause. “I’m not sure.” The voice was uncertain. “I think I was hurt. And then…running. And then—” there was another purr, “—you were holding me and talking to me. That felt good.”

  Goddess. What had happened?

  “Are we going somewhere?”

  “Yes.” I sent an image of the Place of Birthing. “Do you know what this is?”

  “I know this place.” There was a sense of searching. “I think it’s where…I will come to be.”

  “Well,” I said, “we’re going to leave in the morning and head there.” The weight of the day was overwhelming. “Let’s sleep now.”

  “Will you hold me?”

  “Of course.” I arranged my blanket on the ground and curled up around the egg. “Good night, little one.”

  There was a pause. “I had a name.”

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  I looked at the egg glowing blue in the faint light of my fireball.

  “I think,” I said, “that I’ll call you Indigo.”

  We were up at first light, and I picked my way through the bottom of the canyon. I peered up at the sky, concerned about a rainstorm and sudden flood. But the day was cloudless so far, and the air was sere and dry. Eventually the gorge debouched into a broad fan that led upwards to another slope. I sighed, readjusted the straps of my pack, and pressed on.

  “Are we there yet?”

  “Is that a universal question? Well, the answer is no.” I thought for a moment. “We must clear this series of hills and plateaus and then pass through a wide valley. After that, it’s a steep climb to the cave.”

  “Oh. Why don’t you fly, then?”

  “I can’t. No wings, see?” I flapped my arms and was rewarded by a giggle.

  “You should grow some.”

  “I’ll take that under advisement.”

  “What?”

  “It won’t be easy.” I began to climb the first ridge. “Anyway, when we get to the top, we’ll have a look around.”

  It took at least one trek to ascend to the top. I stood about half a stad above our campsite of the previous night, and from here, I could see two or three more ridges before us. I estimated that it would take me most of the day to reach the valley.

  I turned in a slow swivel to take in the country around and behind me and froze. Three or four stads in the direction that I had come was a group of dots cresting a distant ridge. As I watched, more came into view, until I could count twelve individuals.

  I pulled up a telescopic spell and focused on the leading bodies. It was too far to make out any details, but the steady pace and grim focus told me all I had to know. I was being hunted.

  How had they tracked me? I had walked over rock and hard-packed dirt, policed my campsites, and left no refuse. I had even buried my waste. I should have been a ghost in this immense wilderness, and yet…

  I pulled off my backpack and looked at it with my magesight. Indigo burned like a beacon, and our connection flared and danced over my chest.

  I ran again. I could not maintain more than a slow jog on the level, and climbing was a nightmare. Sweat poured down my face, and my trousers alternately flapped and stuck to my legs. The pack abraded my back and pulled incessantly at my shoulders.

  There were three parallel ridges. I would stop briefly at the top of each and survey my back trail. Each time I looked, my pursuers were closer. They did not even seem to be exerting themselves; their rhythm was steady and remorseless. With each climb and descent, they were a stad nearer. The twelve had split into two groups by the second ridge: one stayed directly behind me, while the other deviated to the south, presumably to block any attempt to circle back. At the end of the last climb, I saw another tracker trailing the two packs by two or three stads.

  The last foothill had a spine that ran parallel to the mountains. I could see that the south end was a gentle slope that rose to the plateau I stood on. At its bottom, I could see the second group of pursuers beginning to climb towards me. The first band was ascending more slowly, due to the steep incline. But they would be here soon enough. I trotted across the mesa in the direction of the valley and stopped.

  Ahead of me there was a sheer cliff.

  The cliff ran all the way to the north and then disappeared. Even if there was an exit in that direction, I knew that I had no chance of reaching it before my pursuers caught up with me. I looked around the ledge that I stood on; there was not a scrap of cover, and I would be an easy target for their bolos. As I watched, the group of six spread out into a long skirmish line and began to move forward more cautiously, exposing only one or two of their members at any one time. Each had at least one bolo dangling from their belt.

  “Mother.”

  “Yes, Indigo.” I was trying not to let my voice shake.

  “I really think you need to fly.”

  I closed my eyes briefly and blinked away tears. The thought of losing her was like a knife to the chest. I turned to look at the edge of the cliff and debated trying to climb down. I discarded the idea immediately; I had never been an alpinist and wasn’t going to learn now. The wind from the mountains dried my face and I saw a shred of foliage lofted up as the air rose.

  Wait.

  I cocked my head as if tasting a thought. I looked over my shoulder; the hunters were now only five hundred paces away.

  I formed a large oval shield, parallel to the ground, about three paces in width and ten in length. It had a distinct curve that formed arches, along both the long and short axes. As the shield rose from the ground, I attached spell strands from the tips, and along the length of the long axis on the leading and trailing edges. All terminated in two main cables that I wrapped around my thighs and chest.

  I left a detonator on the ledge and stepped off the cliff.

  I kept the leading edge of my crude paraglider directed downwards. I accelerated terrifyingly fast and slowly increased the angle of attack. My downward trajectory halted, and I began to rise and bleed off speed. I adjusted the tension on the strands to bank to the left, so I came parallel to the cliff face.

  “Mother! We’re flying!”

  “Little busy here.” I gritted my teeth and tried to control my attitude, yaw and bank simultaneously. Little by little we began to gain altitude in the weak ridge lift. I examined the cliff; about five hundred paces on, I could see an indentation in the wall where a large fall had removed a V-shaped chunk of the rock face. I looked up; sure enough, there was a small gaggle of winged reptiles working a thermal. I flew in below them, slowed, and turned left to enter the rising air. I snorted with amusement when I realized that I had automatically chosen the same direction of rotation as had they. Old habits die hard.

  I climbed slowly, my sail shuddering at the edge of the stall. I had no way of judging the lift other than my position to the plateau, and the other fliers. Nonetheless, it was clear that I was rising. I watched the collared as they approached my takeoff position. When they halted, I triggered the detonator. One was blown into a boulder and did not move thereafter; the other rolled off the edge of the cliff, and I snarled with satisfaction.

  Eleven left.

  The thermal was weak and petered out five or six hundred paces above the level of the plateau. As soon as I felt it die, I turned towards the valley and set off. I had no idea of my speed, the best glide ratio of my crude rig, or the headwinds. I shrugged mentally and concentrated on maintaining a steady glide slope that felt right to me.

  “I knew you could fly.”

  “And you were right, Indigo. Although I’m afraid this isn’t going to get us to our goal. We’re going to have to run some more.”

  The valley floor was unrolling under my feet. The air was dead, without a whisper of another thermal. How I hated final glides. Ahead, I saw the gleam of a stream meandering through the ravine bottom. I banked carefully until I thought that I could just clear the far bank. The ground came up with distressing speed, and I increased the angle of attack on my wing as I skimmed over the water and flared into the welcoming shore. I took a few bouncing steps and came to a halt as I collapsed the spells. I sat down and took a series of shuddering breaths in and out.

  A few minutes later, I drained my water flask and refilled it from a small feeder creek, fearing that daktari lurked in the river. Then I wearily picked up my pack and set off once more in the gathering evening.