The rocky plateau sprawled endlessly around like stony waves, with the looming bulk of the North Peak—a lone mountain with a broad base and flattened top—cloaked in a milky veil of clouds.

It looked like a tooth that God had polished with the cotton clouds for thousands of years. Sometimes he would stop to marvel at his work, removing the clouds with a wave of wind and pointing the bright lamp of the sun right at the tooth.

Oh yes. The North Peak was radiant with frosty whiteness.

…But the heavenly dentist should take a better look at this tooth from the sides, not just from the top. They were furrowed by blue shadows cutting into its surface like deep gashes. Further down, gray spots of bare rock were visible from beneath the snow like dental plaque. The mountain’s base was not white at all, coated in the upsettingly thick tartar of large boulders, with none of the shiny purity of its crown.

A week had passed since we’d made it through the hollow. Over the next two days, we’d climbed up to this plateau. Now we were heading northeast, leaving the sea below and behind us.

The sun was just as bright up here, but the air was cooler because of the altitude, with no heat wearing us down on the march. But the temperatures at nighttime were freezing.

Fortunately, Kasamarchi and I had raided the soldiers’ camp briefly after the fight. Now, our only surviving Budrah carried a load of warm blankets and fur cloaks. Wrapping ourselves in them, next to the dwindling fire, we drifted off to sleep, cuddling up to the dozing Budrah’s warm side.

I’d sewed up Asp’s wound during our first pause; now, the snake boasted two fresh scars.

Alas, Kasamarchi’s hornet army was more difficult to restore. The boy had picked a decent amount of burdock seeds to replace the fallen soldiers, but so far, they remained just seeds. He could not perform the rite without the vulture’s feather.

We needed an animator…if one could be found up here.

According to Erderak's memories, fished out by Angel through the chastener’s Spider ring, there actually used to be one.

The Shaman. He could animate our seeds.

When the Magister’s Raven pointed at the North Peak three years ago, Erderak’s squad came here. They captured the Ice Hawk but lost over half of the soldiers and almost all the animated objects.

Why had the soldiers suffered such terrible losses?

It couldn’t only be due to the Shaman's followers—hairy cave giants. They were extremely strong and fierce and fought with greater skill than one would expect from an indigenous tribe. But opposing them was a large death squad with animated items, led by Erderak.

His memory only retained disjointed fragments from that battle.

Budrahs going crazy.

Disobedient animated objects.

Gray-skinned mummies with hollow cheeks and blind eyes dropping from horseback. A minute before, these ruins had been his twenty-year-old soldiers.

Subsiding ashes of the Shaman’s body.

Not until the group’s return would these shattered fragments of Erderak’s memory come together like an icy puzzle, taking the shape of a tiny bird shining in the sun: an amulet.

Crossing the plateau, Erderak’s group descended into the hollow, reaching the Ironsea coast where rocks were baked in the hot sun. Several days later, they came to the Magisterium, where Erderak turned his trophy in to the animator.

Throughout this journey, the Ice Hawk figurine remained cold and absolutely dry; not a single melted drop fell from it.

It was difficult to understand what exactly had happened at the North Peak’s base from the chastener's disorganized memories. But judging from the small pile of ashes that remained of the Shaman, there was no point in looking for him. We’d better avoid the Peak anyway, because of the cave dwellers.

But…but we were taking one step after another towards this mountain, already as vast as half the sky.

“Hey, let’s turn away,” I shouted to Kasamarchi, who was walking ahead. “We may get in trouble.”

Step.

“Looks like it’s too late,” he replied without looking back.

Step.

“Too late?” I was confused.

Step.

“Try to turn,” he advised. “You’ll see.”

I stopped.

Step.

…or rather, I tried to stop.

Step.

A mental command formed in my mind but never reached my feet. They just kept carrying me towards the tooth-like mountain.

Step.

What the hell is this? Stop! STOP! I yelled mentally, struggling to regain control over my own feet.

Step.

Blood rushed to my temples.

Step.

I felt dizzy.

Step.

The North Peak lurched to the side.

“D’u feeel ssame?” I asked Kasamarchi, my tongue twisting as if I were drunk.

Step.

“Yes,” he said. “They’re leading us. Don’t resist. And stop talking. You’re wasting your strength.”

Step.

The rocky path blurred before my eyes.

Who is leading us? The Shaman? But he’s dead! Or…or not?

I could no longer talk; my mouth was too dry and hot, my gums and tongue numbed as though by anesthesia. Neither could I feel my feet, but, judging by the mountain looming closer and closer, they kept walking.

Unable to do anything, I merely observed.

Is this some kind of hypnosis? But how? We haven’t even seen anyone!

Does it always require someone being nearby to be hypnotized?

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Why am I not scared at all?

I could not even turn my head to look at Kasamarchi; it felt too big and heavy. I just sensed him walking by my left side.

But only him. The Budrah was not there. Neither were the crocs. Aren’t they allowed here? Why? Do they have only tables-for-two up there? Or a no-pets policy?

A warm, intoxicating wave of nervous fun was spreading over my body. Why am I thinking all this nonsense?

It was no more nonsensical than my feet still carrying me to the Peak, with all the nonsense in my head. Ha, ha. They’d better take this walk without me. I could wait here. I don’t need anything up there. Ha, ha.

What’s wrong with me?

The bulk of the North Peak already covered the whole sky. Floating on both sides were large boulders, more and more of them; some were oddly shaped—corroded, with branching outgrowths forming arches over our heads.

Here’s the tartar. And we are merely the tooth bacteria.

Why not? I can make a good bacterium if someone explains to me my responsibilities.

…and rights. Ha, ha, ha!

My mind was a bubbling mess of voices, images, and hallucinations, my chest bursting with crazy fun.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw I was no longer alone with Kasamarchi. Some giant figures, all covered in gray hair, walked by our side.

So these are those scary cave dwellers?

But where’s Asp? Where’s Angel? The Hornets?

Are the cave dwellers this close at hand not enough for you to come alive? Are you waiting for one of them to crush my head with two giant fingers as if it were a ripe tomato? To clean up the red mess, yeah. Oh, ho ho ho ho!

I could not stop laughing silently.

An invisible cook was stirring my brain with a giant wooden ladle.

My brain? Or the tomato juice filling my head?

Ahahahaha!

Hey there, in my head! Are you a cook or a shaman?

Oh, I get it. You’re a shaman cook, two-in-one! A cook’s cap with fool’s bells.

Play it loud on your tambourine! Now! With your wooden ladle, yeah.

Ahahaha.

Are you dead or alive?

Are you here or there?

And me? Am I dead or alive? Am I here or there?

Here I am! Ahahaha!

I wanted to scream with brimming joy.

…and wail with binding powerlessness…

…and laugh with burning euphoria…

…and share with the whole universe my knowledge.

This bubbling whirlwind of emotions hid my immediate surroundings from sight.

OMG. OMG. OMG. Here we are!!!

AAAAAAAH!

The furry bulks of “snowmen” parted, revealing a cave entrance. Out came a boy of about three, dressed in old rags he’d apparently received second-hand from a much taller person.

Stop. Why is this kid here? Where’s your celebrated cook? Your Shaman, I mean?

“Hi, kid. Where are your parents?” I asked mentally, unable to open my numb lips when the child lifted his slanting eyes to look at the local Orion through my body.

I felt like I was falling into the bottomless void of open space inside his black pupils…

…and everything calmed down at once.

And settled in its proper place.

The mess was sorted out.

A prearranged knowledge spread in my mind like that night in the smoke of the Penetration Grass.

…You had to know the way in order to avoid the focus spots of those stone “mirrors:” pairs of steep, caved rocks at the foot of the mountain. When a human stepped into a focus spot, their biological clock started to work differently.

Clearly, I saw the death of Erderak’s soldiers three years ago. The scenes buried too deep in his memory for us to retrieve.

…A lean old man, wearing the same clothes I’d seen on the child, stood at the cave entrance. He looked familiar. Where could I have seen him before? Was it him standing behind the misty veil of the Penetration Grass on that night?

The soldiers yelled at the Budrahs, darting around like crazy, and cast desperate glances at their animated objects—the sort of looks one would give to their stopped watch or jammed gun. But their charms, rings, and pipes would not come alive.

Fierce cave giants hurled the rocks that knocked the riders down and smashed the Budrahs’ heads.

The twisted time and space in the focus spots, the air trembling like jelly. Running into these spots, the soldiers would immediately hunch, shrink, and fall from their dying horses’ backs, ten steps away from the Shaman.

But part of the group, including the officer, avoided the hurled stones and the focus spots. Some were just lucky; others, like Erderak, were attentive enough to see the shivering air and turn their horses away from the abnormal place.

The ring in the officer’s ear unclasped with a familiar touch of tiny claws on his lobe. In a moment, the metal Spider rolled down over the rocks, then spread its legs to brake and, clanging like a compressed spring, squatted for a leap and soared into the air with a screech of ball joints.

Erderak glanced at the Shaman, who was about to be reduced to a bloody mess…

…but the old man took a tiny step to the side, into the jelly. His figure blurred in the shivering air, crumbling to dust.

The spider’s dagger claws screeched on bare rocks.

A small cloud of dust settled where the Shaman had just stood. Gleaming in the sun, a bit to the side, was a tiny thing on a clean spot.

Riding up, Erderak dismounted and picked the amulet: a small transparent figure of a predatory bird, probably a hawk, on a coarse string. His fingers felt the cold ice the figurine was made of.

Blowing the dust off the amulet and putting it around his neck, Erderak said in his lowest voice, “Good thing you didn’t work, dear friend.” Mounting, he added, “Or we’d have all died here.

…The Shaman always comes back after death.

Here is his private cemetery. Two hundred graves with his past bodies, the oldest buried thousands of years ago.

Who buries him? The cave dwellers.

The pre-arranged knowledge kept pouring into my mind.

Here is his most recent grave. Three years old.

What does a body matter?

The Shaman has changed them hundreds of times.

And here he is born every time. Inside this tree.

For some, it’s only a tree; for him, it’s a Mother tree.

From this hollow, cave dwellers take his reborn body, young but with the memories of all his past lives.

Nursing? Cavewomen do it. This tribe has women, not only men.

His lifespan? As long as he needs it, be it three years or three thousand. This place has mirrors that can slow down the flow of time; that huge pair virtually stops the aging process.

The Shaman’s voice in my head continued talking about himself in the third person.

Here, Kasamarchi. Your pouch is ready. Just bend your neck so the little Shaman can put it on you. He’s too small to reach it otherwise.

And here is your gift, Ana.

How are you? Did the Penetration Grass give you a headache?

Good.

Take this pouch with pebbles. Bow down, please.

What are these pebbles called? Cammoths.

They will make a strong leg for your monster. It can’t stand well on a single Budrah, you know.

What is their transformation? You will see it. In due time.

Now look in the mirror, Ana. And drink this.

The Shaman handed me a clay bowl of water. Keeping my eyes on the child, I took a sip. Water. So welcome.

Taking a few gulps, I accidentally looked down in the bowl…and wild terror shot through my temples like an electric current.

Staring at me from the water’s reflection was an ancient crone with dark holes in place of eyes.

I screamed, dropping the bowl, barely missing the child, and stared at my…my dark, gnarled, ancient fingers.

The Shaman didn’t move. He watched me, unblinking, a mischievous smile in his slanting eyes.

Shrieking, I closed my eyes, feeling my face…my dried, wrinkled skin.

In my mind, I saw the toothless mummies grinning at me as they flashed by, their bony arms reaching for me in silent prayer. Transported into one of the mirror focus spots, I tried to escape, as if in a troubled dream, but could not run. My old feet would barely move while the rest of my body was growing even older, crumbling to dust…

Suddenly it stopped.

I stood, clutching my face in my hands, too scared to move, my ears ringing in the deafening silence.

Warily, I felt my cheeks.

The skin was smooth.

Removing my hands from the face, I opened my eyes.

My fingers were normal.

I glanced around.

Kasamarchi.

The Budrah.

Crocs.

Everyone was here.

The North Peak was far behind. I could not remember us passing it.

Phew. Thank God it was just a dream.

Sighing with relief, I looked at Kasamarchi. His pouch was in place.

I also had a small, heavy pouch dangling from my neck.

“Alive?” Kasamarchi asked in his usual flat voice.

“Phew…Not quite sure, honestly,” I said, raising my brows and blinking quickly. “What was that? Do you know?”

“It was the Shaman of the North Peak. His current incarnation.” Kasamarchi shrugged.

“Fucking hell,” I blurted. That cemetery “plantation” with long lines of identical graves…that gnarled, stocky “mother tree”…Brrrrr.

“It’s all right,” the boy said, apparently sharing none of my emotion. “Now that the Shaman has animated the seeds, the Magister’s Raven pecked at the North Peak again, just like three years ago. The Burned One must be startled. Last time, it took the soldiers two weeks to reach this place. Now he will probably guess that it’s you and Asp here, so he will send a messenger to intercept the Guard at the North Budrahrium and tell them to go here.”

“Fuck the Magister,” I dismissed, looking around. “Hey. Why is there smoke behind those mountains?” I pointed at the eastern ridge, which was belching gray clouds of smoke.

Kasamarchi’s face became serious. “That's the Volcanites’ land. We will be there in a week.”