The light went out of the sky gradually and then all at once, the way it does in the mountains. Iruga found the spot first — a large elm tree set back from the road, roots raised enough to give them something to lean against, ground flat enough to sleep on. They dropped their things and Iruga got to work.

  He gathered what was on the ground — dry branches, dead bark, a fistful of leaf litter — and arranged them with the practiced efficiency of someone who had learned to make fire the hard way. He fashioned a bow drill from a straight branch and a strip of cord from his pack, set the spindle, and began to work it.

  Chiyo stood beside him with his arms folded and watched.

  "What are you doing?" Chiyo said.

  "Making fire."

  "I can see that. Why?"

  Iruga did not answer. The spindle turned. A thin ribbon of smoke appeared at the base.

  Chiyo raised one hand, and between his fingers appeared a fireball the size of a grape, burning a clean steady orange. He flicked it into the pile of branches.

  The fire caught immediately, warm and generous, as if it had been waiting.

  Iruga looked at the fire. Then at Chiyo. Then he set the bow drill down on the ground beside him and said nothing.

  If you come across this story on Amazon, it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.

  Chiyo sat down across from the fire, looking satisfied.

  They ate from what Ana had packed. The mountain dark settled around them, the elm's branches moving faintly above. After a while Iruga leaned back and looked at the fire.

  "How did you end up in Eustad?" he said. "You said you're from far south-east. That's a long way to get lost."

  Chiyo was quiet for a moment, picking at a piece of dried meat.

  "I was playing with my monkey friend at the peach garden," he said. "He's the one tasked to tend to the peaches. Long story short, he fucked something up that day. Got punished. Jailed for quite some time."

  Iruga waited.

  "What does that have to do with you?" he said. "He's the one who fucked up and got punished."

  "Well," Chiyo said, "what I meant by playing is fighting. We raised hell in that garden that day." He poked at the fire with a stick. "My brother warped me here so I wouldn't get punished too. And the kicker of it." He paused. "I got separated from my celestial body in the process."

  Iruga stared at him. A monkey friend. A peach garden. A brother who warped him across the world to avoid punishment. A celestial body left somewhere behind.

  None of it connected into anything. He turned it over the same way he had turned over the glass pigeon and found the same result — no side of it was reasonable.

  He let out a breath and shrugged.

  "Well," he said, "looks like you're stuck with me. I've never stepped outside of Smardoh before today." He looked at the fire. "Might as well learn the land together."

  Chiyo looked at him for a moment. Then he went back to his dried meat.

  The fire crackled between them. The elm moved above. The mountain had gone quiet around them, the kind of quiet that has things in it.

  Then, behind them, a branch snapped.

  A low growl followed it. Close. Patient. The kind that did not hurry because it did not need to.

  Iruga's hand moved to his father's sword.