High into the mountains and through the clouds they trekked, to a place of wonder hardly fit for mortal eyes. The three riders from Banx crested the rim of rocky terrain and beheld a pristine lake ringed by a skirt of light fog. Lush grass carpeted the ridge, and rows of well-manicured trees dotted the horizon as far as the eye could see. At its center, an island rose from the mist, a mass of shadow half concealed by the lumbering clouds.

  Yechvan dismounted and stretched his weary, aching limbs. Five days of riding on flat roads was enough to make him sore, but the narrow mountain path with its steep slopes and rough trails was harder on his body. Harder still for his mare, who would no doubt relish the rest and relaxation of their extended stay, even in the thin air of the peaks.

  Grask had never ridden so hard or so long. He must have been in pain, but to his credit, he hadn’t once complained. Yechvan suspected the boy hated the idea of looking weak in front of his teachers—mostly Zu.

  The trio arrived at the dock and unburdened the horses, handing off the reins to the monks who cared for the stable. They exchanged pleasantries, then climbed aboard the boat and settled in for the quick trip across the lake, the final leg of a long journey.

  A chill breeze blew in from the west, sinister and biting and carrying the promise of ice. Despite the ill omen, Yechvan reveled in Solyn’s breath. The crisp mountain air tousled his hair and burned his nose as he breathed deep. The boat glided along the clear water like a bird soaring through the sky reflected in its placid surface. Though he could see into the watery depths, there was nary a hint of soil in the bottomless abyss.

  Zu leaned back against the hull and groaned in satisfaction, letting his hair trail off the end of the skiff and drag behind in the water. Grask sat perfectly still, clutching his pack to his chest, alarm stiffening his grip with the boat’s every wobble.

  Once the small vessel reached the island, Yechvan, Zu and a seasick Grask disembarked and waved goodbye to the monk who had ferried them ashore.

  They approached the Temple of Hlun with wonderment and awe. It was impossible to do elsewise. Two rows of towering stone columns had been chiseled in the shape of arms whose hands held the roof aloft, like servants carrying a palanquin for the goddess. The middle of the roof had collapsed hundreds of years ago, but skilled artisans had refashioned it to look as though that were the original intent, leaving the grand courtyard open to the heavens. As always, the temple itself was inviting. Braziers burned every ten paces to fend off the biting wind and keep it from penetrating too deep.

  A human acolyte approached, hood pulled up. Her bright grey eyes shone in its shadow. “Welcome. We have been expecting you,” she said with a sweet, sarcastic smile.

  Yechvan exchanged a look with Zu, rolling his eyes.

  The woman turned, gesturing for them to follow. “We have prepared the steam baths. You, young one, will sit with Yun in a few days, when Hlenice is cloaked in Ex’ala’s shadow. Under the blanket of the heavens, unlit by the moon’s glow, might she divine the gods’ will for you.”

  She opened the door to a cramped, dusky tunnel lit only by a few torches along the walls. At the end, a curved staircase descended into the flickering depths. Leading the way, she hiked up her robes and stepped onto the stone stairs.

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  “It’s so deep,” Grask said, his small voice bouncing around the stairwell.

  “Some say its depths reach the Udaro.” The acolyte’s words resonated within the stony passage, but her echo was minimal, as if she was able to control it.

  “Nonsense, I’ve traversed the depths of these caverns more than once,” Zu proclaimed. “You could descend another day and night and still not reach the Udaro.”

  The acolyte inclined her head in polite deference. “Some tales are true. Others…” She trailed off.

  By the time they reached the base of the stairwell, the only light emanated from a single torch struggling to ward off the darkness. Already Yechvan felt the heat of the stones from the next room. Flecks of steam shimmered in the dancing torchlight.

  One hundred eighty-one steps down the spiral staircase—to depths Solonia could not penetrate—to let the steam cleanse the body. To let the darkness and heat cleanse the mind. To melt away the mundane woes of life beyond the temple. To release the heavy burden of the past and refocus on the present.

  The companions undressed, Grask hesitating under the woman’s watchful gaze. When they finished, she took their folded clothes and boots to wash away the road’s remains. Zu opened the weighty stone door and ducked through the small portal. Yechvan followed with a bit more ease, not quite as tall or nearly as broad as his friend. The door barely noticed Grask, who wasn’t yet strong enough to shut it by himself. Yechvan ushered the boy along and pushed it closed.

  The baths were engulfed in darkness, save for the glow of the hot coals behind a half wall. The force of the steam was oppressive. A trickle of water slid down the stones and evaporated upon contact with the coals, the steam galloping away from the heat. It struck Yechvan full in the face, threatening to suffocate him. He took a few steadying breaths and the uncomfortable feeling passed, leaving in its wake a humid wetness that clung to every pore.

  “Gods to hell,” Grask swore, testing out the expression he’d picked up from Zu’s mysterious companion. “How can you breathe in here?”

  Zu groaned in pleasure as he settled into the warm water and covered his face with a damp towel. “Isn’t it glorious, Little Grask? Don’t fight it. That will only make things worse. Let it roll over you like you are a stone, the steam a river.”

  “Stone? River?” Grask scoffed. “I’m going to drown in here.”

  “Don’t be so dramatic,” Zu chided. “Stones cannot drown, Little Grask.”

  “If you can’t breathe in the suffocating air, you die,” the boy grumbled under his breath, mimicking Zu’s merciless teaching mantra.

  After several uncomfortable minutes, and two trips into the stairwell, Grask had calmed down enough to avoid passing out. Once acclimated to the atmosphere, he asked, “Why do you come here so often? It’s such a long ride and it doesn’t seem like there is much to do.”

  “That depends on your perspective,” Yechvan said. He came in search of peace of mind. He hadn’t seen a ghost for two days. The land surrounding the temple had been consecrated by the blood of the gods a hundred hundred years ago, and no aberrant or spectral beings had the strength to penetrate the protection of such a holy place.

  “Well, from my perspective,” Grask said, after waiting for Yechvan to say more, “it isn’t worth it.”

  “Fascinating as that is,” Zu mumbled, removing the towel from his face, “we didn’t ask.”

  “What Zu is trying to say, though not very amicably, is that we each have our reasons,” Yechvan explained, as Zu grunted his displeasure. “Milling about Banton Castle and the town becomes stale after a while. It is nice to stretch our wings and fly. Once or twice a season, the temple needs to be resupplied. The nations of the surrounding lands share the duty, as this holy ground is neutral territory and everyone’s responsibility. Zu and I volunteer every chance we get. Who knows? Perhaps you’ll come to enjoy it as much as we do. After all, you’ve only been here, what, an hour? Give it time. All good things in this life take patience.”

  “Ironically,” Zu added, “it takes patience for that lesson to bear fruit.” He covered his face again and settled against the stones, ready to fall asleep.