Hawk had thought, a half hour before, that she would give anything for light; now she was choking on her words. The red glow was at their heels. It loomed in her periphery like a threat, and the living creatures avoiding the fire began to outnumber Argon’s ember-eyed beasts. Hawk could glimpse, now, an artificial ecosystem in shutter-stop glances. The Fleet-Hares leaping, deer-like, across the moss, dodging trees with effortless ease. Smaller, squat creatures that looked a bit like a combination of dog and ferret. Rabbits, of course, and mice, and insects, all fleeing the fire.

She wasn’t worried until the living things began showing up, burnt. A bunny ear here, the flank of a Fleet-hare there. The smell of burning hair, burning skin, boiling blood, began to thicken the air, to curdle it so it clotted in the lungs and made each breath sting. The star-moss’s damp glory was as much an impediment as a biological marvel. The land was growing ever-steeper, and the moss made it worse. She could smell the fire itself now, which meant the winds had changed and the thing the Archon had feared had happened: Argon’s fire was joined by Kali’Mar’s wind. What had been a slow chase was going to get worse; soon the fire would be at their heels.

“I don’t get this.” Henry said, as their flight became more of a climb. They were heaving themselves over boulders; it took both Em and Hawk to help the Archon and Kaiser over a fallen tree. “Aren’t there people in these woods? Farms?”

“Farms and foundries and all measure of useful things, yes. There’s three villages between us and the fire…” He trailed off, peering into the burnt forests. They could see the first flames now, ripping through the trees on the gusts of wind. He blanched again, his eyes suddenly slick. The Archon said, “It’s two, now. Two more villages. They’re too far back, and one is away to the right. We cannot help them.”

And more: That was the trap being set. The Gods were preying on Hawk’s altruism, the gut-wrenching realization that these innocent, darling people were about to lose everything they valued, even their lives, entirely because of her. She had done this. If she hadn’t angered the Gods…

She shook herself out of that pattern of thought. It was old, and bad, something that predated Alex and had always kept her at her mother’s side. The idea that we can be responsible for the actions of others is easy to find, easy to hold to. It gives us the illusion of control, that if one could just be enough—good enough, articulate enough, helpful enough, enough, enough, enough—you could take an abusive ass and turn them into a worthy lover. Be obedient, and your parent may not beat you. With the unspoken words being clear: It’s your fault. Your fault they hurt you, your fault they were disappointed. They come to you with Your fault on their banners, as the sign of their favor. But the reality is, she had no control over this. She did not make Naomi Studdard put Alex into the Prism. She didn’t make Naomi and her three lackeys go through the Rift with him. She didn’t grant them God-hood, and she had no say in how they chose to use that awesome power.

She did not kindle the fire. Argon did. She didn’t make the wind blow; Kali’mar did. Rain, or a sudden flood, or a rushing river, those weren’t Hawk’s to play with; that was Illyris. And she hadn’t driven Naomi Studdard mad; this had been her first meeting with that worthy, and it was clear her problems had begun, grown, and intensified into flower long before Hawk and her friends were on the scene.

And I didn’t make them eat Alex, she thought. That barb was going to lodge deep in her subconscious for a long time. Fuel for Ragnarök. For a revenge she didn’t know how to accomplish…but she would.

But the fire slowed as it reached this more mountainous region. The light here was also not entirely fire. Hawk could make out clear shapes in the distance—trees here, fleeing animals there. Her own hands, washed out and almost pale—quite a triumph with her mixed-race complexion—flickered over darkened rocks and moss turned black with shadow. In fact, she was so happy with the light that she didn’t see the burning Fleet-Hare until it had jumped into their midst.

It must have been beautiful in life. Its hide still showed signs of soft fur in eggshell white. The arch of its neck was perfect. But its eyes were burning and patches of flame flickered out of blackened holes in its pelt.

It danced among them, striking them each with its large, powerful legs. The softness of its paws was made a lie by the power of those kicks. Hawk tried to duck, but caught it in the midrift. Gagging, she watched as the flaming creature set its teeth to Kaiser Willheim’s clothes. It gathered it up in a big, smoking mouthful, and then made another leap off the mountain, with Willheim in its grasp.

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It lept twice, from rock to rock, and then the Fleet-Hare was gone.

***

Hawk ran back down the ground she had so lately won, shouting Kaiser’s name. It didn’t occur to her until later that she could have turned her back on him, left him to his fate. That’d be the easy solution to the distressing problem drowning her. Instead of thinking like Kaiser, however, she thought like Hawk, and went after the man who had caused so much trouble because even men like him were worth it. Even men like him.

Back, down across slick, wet rocks. She shouted, “Stay there. Keep going!” and hoped these contradictory orders would translate to “leave us behind”. Down back to the moss-covered path, and brief flashes of embers, of burning flesh, of blood. Kaiser howled once, long and high, and Hawk had to redouble her efforts to pursue. But the Fleet Hare had chosen a path that was mostly rock, with a little bit of cliff. A steep incline would have been an improvement.

Then the Hare changed direction, leaping back up with Kaiser still firmly in its mouth. Steam rose around its feet; more steam and some smoke rose around its grip on Kaiser. It held his upper arm and blood dripped from an especially blackened patch that looked like the merciless creature’s teeth. It leapt to the next ledge, forcing her upward, forcing her to keep up with it. Kaiser’s ragged screams did not appear to weaken, so Hawk took some solace in his volume. She pulled herself up another ledge and cliff. About the fifth time it redirected itself because she could not follow, she realized she was being lead.

Well. We get to the next part and I get to find out why.

She slipped when the rocks under her feet collapsed. She screamed, though she strangled it as soon as she could, and clung to the cliff, and managed not to fall, but that was pretty much it.

And then there was a presence nearby, a bit behind and off to the left, and a voice whispered salaciously, “You look like you need some help, little bird.”

Shadowmaster. She clenched tighter to the wall. “Maybe. Where’s that fucking thing taking Kaiser?”

“Off for a confrontation with a God. I’m not sure which one. Argon would be your best bet, but sometimes he lets the others play with fire.” He looked at her worriedly. That expression, when Alex wore it, usually meant he was scared to death.

Hawk was thinking. What would Alex do was a bit harder to play when Alex—or someone wearing his face—was here, but she got an idea. A terrible sort of idea, the kind that’d skin you alive to solve. But oh, it’d be beautiful if it worked, and she didn’t think she was going to get another chance. “You want to help me get Kaiser back?”

“And here I thought I was going to save you. You’ve gotten rather high, pretty girl. I’m not so sure you can climb back down.”

“I need a sword.” She said. “Or a heavy axe. Something that can cut…and cut deep.”

He looked at her for a long time, and said, “Why?” quite softly.

“Because I’m going to kill them. They owe me. I deserve it.” And she let her grief come out. She let the Shadowmaster see the smallest part of it.

“No,” He said.

The winds were starting to rise now, to blow the dew on the moss about like rain. Perhaps this was even the source of rain here, too, water pouring down from on high. It whipped Hawk’s braids around her face, caught hell in his smoke-like hair. She could still see stars in it. Still see the promise of some other universe. Not hers or this one; there only promises here were dead, and kept pinned to cards.

“They killed someone I love,” she said.

“They kill hundreds every day. You’ve seen it. Why is one life worth punishing them for, when all the rest may suffer?”

“You’re right. It’s wrong of us. It’s short-sighted. But I don’t have a way to know all those people. I know my husband and they…” oh, no. she couldn’t say it. She looked in his eyes and found Alex there. He was there, in an alien gaze. He was reaching out to her like he would a trembling bird, and she was tempted to take it. She could take his hand and start telling him who he was, both to her and to himself. Tell him he had a life beyond this nightmare place, that he could leave it all behind. They were taking the Archon, he had nothing left here, but…

…but she would have to let Kaiser die.

Her morality was his backup plan. It always had been. Of course, Kaiser could do whatever he wanted. Marry and divorce the way people would buy and consume cereal boxes. His alimony would soothe shattered hearts. Sure, he could experiment with new medical technology; the old guard were still there to save his failures. Sure, he could come here, be here, exist in this hell-hole and not become god-bait in five seconds flat; it worked because people cared what might happen to him.

And she knew, even as she spoke that she was making a mistake. “Because he’s part of my team.” A pause, and she knew at least how to hit below the belt. “We’re saving Mattias. You can help me save Kaiser.”

A flash of hatred, hot as solar fires. “Right. I see you can cut as fine a bargain as him.”

“Whatever. Help me climb.”