It was the oldest trick there was. But maybe that was for a reason.

Her eyes flaring, Bechek whirled around, ready to face whoever dared to sneak up on her.

And all at once, the pressure on Belili lifted.

She didn’t hesitate, reaching up and grabbing the goddess’ wrist. She had intended to drag the hand on the box, but it didn’t work out that way.

The moment her hand closed around the wrist, Bechek retracted her arm reflexively, and with strength that should be impossible to generate with such a slight body, Belili was pulled from her knees.

“What are you doing?” the goddess cried.

Flying forward Belili somehow managed to hold on to the box by pressing it against her chest. Crashing into her confused opponent, some part of her realized she only had half a heartbeat before she would be flung aside like a dirty rag or squashed where she hung on this higher being’s wrist.

I am not strong enough to move her, she thought, and so she pulled herself in, hugging the hand to her body.

The goddess cursed in her foreign language as she realized what Belili was trying to do. She tried to shake the girl off, but it was too late. The palm of her caught hand touched the lid.

With a short scream, the goddess ripped herself free, flinging Belili to the site as she did.

Belili rolled over the carpeted ground, landing on her belly. Slightly shaken, she tried to get back up, but a foot between her shoulder blades pushed her back down. Hard.

Emareth stood over her, shouting something she didn’t understand.

Less than two paces away from her face, lay the box upside down. The lid had sprung open.

“What did you do?” the goddess shouted. Her voice had become shrill.

Out of nowhere, a gust of wind rushed through the tent, making the small flames of the oil lamps flicker. Bechek’s veil tore down the middle as if being ripped apart by invisible hands.

The Epi-khmet froze in place, staring at the young woman with shocked expressions. The goddess herself touched her beautiful face in disbelief as the frazzled halves of the fabric slowly slid to the ground.

“No,” she whispered. “No.”

For a long moment, everybody held their breath.

The thin priest was the first to catch himself, hesitantly stepping closer and saying something that sounded like a question to Belili.

He was ignored.

Outside, distant shouts of confusion started up, breaking the spell that held the people in the tent petrified. Heads were turned back, and force was applied between the goddess and the tent flap.

The foot came of Belili’s back, and a hand gripped her hair, roughly pulling her to her feet. Emareth gave an order and pushed her to his fellow warrior before drawing his sickle sword. He hurried to the tent entrance and pulled the flap to the side, opening the view for the people inside.

At first, Belili couldn’t see what the commotion in the camp was about. In the darkness of night, there was very little to see but the fires stretching into the distance and the shadowy silhouettes of men moving between them.

Next to her, in the center of the tent, the goddess sank to her knees. “Father is here,” she said in a low voice. “He found me.”

“What... what is going on?” foul breath asked. Still on his hands and knees, he too had turned around to stare outside.

“The fires…” Tala whispered. It was the first time she spoke since recognizing Belili outside the tent.

She is right, Belili thought as one of the distant lights on the outskirts of the camp winked out. Another followed. And another. The shouting of the bandits became more and more panicked as the fires were extinguished faster and faster. It looked like a wave of darkness was sweeping into the gorge, swallowing everything it came into contact with, blowing out the bonfires like candles.

While their leaders stared, the Epi-khmet outside woke up from their first shock. A group of a dozen warriors formed up in front of the tent, the light of torches reflecting on sickle swords and shields, spears, and bows.

The darkness reached the outer edge of the free area between the bandits’ fires and the tents and stopped. And for a moment, nothing happened.

The warriors outside shuffled their feet, some turning their heads back to the tent.

Emareth looked questioningly first at the kneeling goddess and then at the priest. He opened his mouth, but before the first word could leave his lips, every last light outside—the torches, the cooking fire, everything—was snuffed out all at once.

Reflexively, all of them stepped back from the entrance. The bandit fell on his butt and scooted backward until he almost touched Bechek, who was the only one who hadn’t moved from where she kneeled. The man shrank back, expecting somebody to strike him down for his offense.

Nobody did.

Nobody paid any attention to him. All eyes were on the half-shut tent flap and the utter darkness that lurked behind it.

It was so quiet that Belili could hear the breathing of the warrior holding on to her. His fingers were digging into her skin, betraying his anxiety.

He did just see all his comrades vanish right before his eyes, she thought.

“Welcome, father,” the goddess said, raising her head.

In the small opening of the tent flap, a bit higher than a grown man’s knee, two yellow dots appeared in the darkness.

All of them jumped. All of them but Bechek.

The goddess turned her head to face Belili, her expression showing anger and resignation. “I cannot believe that greedy thief made a bargain with father.”

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Belili shook her head. “He did not.”

Bechek frowned, and then all went dark.

The arm holding on to Belili fell away and was followed by the sound of a body slumping to the ground.

And then the light returned. The flames of the oil lamps danced as if nothing had ever happened. Only the spot where the daughter of the jackal god had kneeled was empty.

It is done, Belili thought. She knew she should feel more. Maybe elation or at least relief, but there was nothing. Maybe tomorrow.

There was clattering as a loaded tray hit the ground. A moment later, Belili found herself pulled into a tight hug. “I am so glad that you are well,” Tala said.

To Belili’s surprise, the older woman’s unusual emotional outburst woke her out of her own lethargy, and she found herself hesitantly returning the hug. They stood there for a while. At some point during that time, foulmouth bandit fled the tent as fast as his legs would carry him.

When Tala was finally willing to break the embrace, Belili saw traces of tears on her cheeks.

“What about Saras and Master Jas’ar?” Tala asked, wiping her face. “And healer Gulan?”

Belili took a respectful step back, bumping into the legs of the warrior. “They are all in Urk at Gulan’s house,” she said. A quick glance behind her confirmed that the man lay still, his sightless eyes staring at the tent’s ceiling.

Emareth and the thin man were the same, having fallen where they stood.

“Come,” Belili said, taking Tala by the hand. “We should not stay here.” She led her outside, and the older woman followed her without resistance.

Outside, the light had returned as well. The campfires and torches all burned and cracked as if nothing had ever happened. The only trace of the jackal god’s visit was in the confused and fearful faces of those bandits that hadn’t run away yet. And the pile of Epi-khmet bodies.

He didn’t take the bandits, though, Belili thought, finding herself wishing he had. In return for her returning his property, she had asked the god of the dead to take his daughter and her men. Apparently, he hadn’t counted the bandits in that number.

“Tala, please go and tell the others we are leaving for Urk,” she said. “Grab what you want to bring, but hurry.”

For a moment, the woman who was her owner by law looked down at her with an unreadable expression. Then she nodded. “Ninkar, gather everybody. We are leaving.”

It still took the former prisoners a while to get ready to leave. There weren’t just the survivors from Zabu’s farm but also people from other places around Urk that the bandits had attacked. Some were injured and needed help walking; others were in such bad shape that they had to be carried on improvised stretchers.

When they finally set out, a caravan of almost sixty wretched-looking people had formed behind Belili. To her surprise, nobody questioned why the small slave girl was leading them. Not even Ninkar.

The old cook stole a couple of nervous glances at her when she thought Belili wasn’t looking, but she wouldn’t meet her eyes.

“Is everything fine?” Tala asked, joining her as they walked through the mostly abandoned bandit camp.

When Belili looked at her questioningly, Tala gestured to the people walking behind them. “The way you looked back, are you concerned about something?”

“No,” she said, before pausing to gather her thoughts. “It is just... the way they are looking at me. And how they are keeping their distance.” There was a gap of almost ten paces between the two, and the leading element of the group with Ninkar. Not that Belili minded. She preferred not to have to talk or answer questions right now. It had been a hard night, and it would still take some time to reach Urk.

“Belili, the others might not have seen what happened in that tent, but they did experience the darkness. It was the stuff of nightmares.” She paused for a moment, as if considering her next words. “I hope you will forgive me for saying this, but there is a certain aura around you. I am sure the others feel it too.”

Belili frowned. “But you are walking next to me.”

“I feel it too,” Tala said. “But I was there with you in that tent. I do not quite understand what happened, but I know that we owe you our freedom.”

Before Belili could respond, they were interrupted. A group of maybe a dozen bandits had gathered to their left and was now hurrying over to cut them off.

Up front walked a big fellow with a shaggy black beard, carrying a spear. His tunic was held together by a knot on his right shoulder, leaving the left side of his upper body uncovered. The exposed skin was marred with many scars, telling the story of vicious whippings.

“Hey, you!” The big man shouted. “Stop right there.”

Belili readied herself. She had hoped that the bandits had all fled, and looking around at the abandoned campfires, most of them had.

The group now blocking their way seemed to be less affected by what they had witnessed tonight. Some of them showed signs of anxiety, their heads constantly turning left and right as they came closer.

But not the leader. Stomping ahead, his angry eyes were solely focused on the women in front of him.

Not me, Belili thought. He is looking at Tala.

Without hesitation, she raised her hand, bringing the column behind her to a stop. “Wait here,” she said to Tala before walking forward to meet the bandits. The older woman looked concerned but complied.

Faced with the single scrawny girl, the bandits came to a halt. While the men behind him exchanged surprised looks, the leader just raised a bushy eyebrow. “Where do you think you are going?”

“That is her,” a voice from behind him called. “The one that killed my brother.”

The leader looked over his shoulder, and a shaking man was pushed to the front. It was foulmouth.

The leader grabbed the shorter bandit by the arm.

Probably a good idea, Belili thought. He looks like he is going to bolt at any moment. Considering what he had seen, she couldn’t really hold it against him.

“This coward here told us an insane story,” the leader said, yanking the other bandit forward. “He would have run all the way to Saggab if he had not bumped into us in the dark.”

“I am telling you she cursed my brother,” the other man said. “And then she called the darkness, and everybody was swallowed.”

Outwardly, Belili didn’t react, but she was actually quite taken aback by the bandit’s panicked reaction. He is afraid of me. Nobody has ever looked at me like that. She wasn’t sure how she felt about that. Not that it matters here and now.

The bandit leader’s bronze grip kept the other man firmly in place. “We found your brother on our way back. He puked his guts out before shoving off. Probably just bad food, that got him.” He turned his attention to Belili. “Is this fool speaking the truth? Was all this your doing?”

“Yes.”

It wasn’t exactly true. I only cursed the bandit; the god of the dead did the rest. But if they believe me, they might let us go. She had hoped so.

The sound of footsteps made all heads turn to the end of the column. Two jogging bandits overtook the freed prisoners without paying any attention to them. The prisoners, in turn, shrunk away from the grim-looking men.

These people will not be of any help if it comes to a fight, Belili thought. There were at least five times as many prisoners as there were bandits left, but many of them were women, children, and wounded.

“There are no elderly,” Belili murmured, looking down the column.

She had spoken more to herself, but Tala still answered. “They only captured those that could be sold as slaves. The old would not be able to survive the journey to the slave markets of Naset-ka. Nor the very young.” There was a hint of bitterness in her voice when she spoke the last sentence.

She lost her children to disease, and it made her confine herself to her room for years, Belili thought. And here she has to watch the bandits just discard them.

Belili had lost her mother to a bandit raid years before, but she didn’t hate them for it. She had been too young; it felt more like the plague that had taken Tala’s children. Something that just came over them.

“What did you find?” the bandit leader asked as the runners reached them.

“The priest and all the warriors are dead,” a man wearing a rag over his left eye said.

The other one nodded, taking a gulp from a waterskin. “It is strange. The bodies are all pale, and they have a hole in their chest.”

“Yes, but there was no blood,” the one-eyed man said, taking the waterskin from his comrade.

“The jackal god takes the hearts,” Belili said. “He weights them to decide who is worthy.”

For a long moment, everybody stared at her.

“…who are you?” the leader asked.

“I am Belili. I am apprentice to master Jas’ar, the magus. He told me to bring these people back to Urk.”

That gave pause to the bandits. Murmurs started up.

“Quite!” the leader shouted. “Whatever did this is gone now, and the sun will come up soon. I have never heard of a magus who was a little girl. How do I know you have any magic?” He let go of foulmouth’s arm and stomped toward Belili.

Belili held her ground, meeting the big man’s gaze. “I only have a little bit. Only what Urk taught me.”

“The god of wells?” the leader asked, not slowing down.

“Yes,” Belili said. “He does not like you taking his people.”

And then she began to whisper the words that would turn the water the bandits had been filling their stomachs with all this time—water from Urk’s wells—rotten.