The sun was high and hot, scenting the air with baked dust. After a few miles on the road, Jiriga had spotted a small outcropping of rock that offered shade and shelter and led the way there. They'd traveled in silence for a little over an hour: hardly unusual for them, but the occasional sidelong glance from him told her that he'd been holding his peace. They tied off their mules out of sight of the road and sat next to each other up against the stone. She pressed her back into it and closed her eyes, savoring the cool against her back for a moment.

"All right, let's hear it," she said, half-sighing. He met her eyes, and she could see him deciding how he wanted to proceed. A welcome change, she thought, after all this time.

"You took a big risk last night," he said: no trace of tenderness or concern, just rebuke.

"I don't see how. We'd spoken to enough people who knew Partesh to have the man's whole life story, and the two he had tied to him were both at the incident. That's plenty to work with."

"Not that. The seance. Three souls right after an exorcism like that?" Jiriga shook his head, glaring a hole in the rock opposite them. "For people you knew nothing about, too."

Well, he's not wrong, Sidri thought. "The boy had just lost his entire family."

"We've discussed sentimentality be--"

"Those three would never have found rest otherwise, dying like that. They'd have become ghosts, of that I'm certain."

Jiriga groaned, removing his spectacles and squeezing the bridge of his nose. "Do we still have the same priorities? Because if you're not trying to track down--"

"Jiriga." Sidri put iron in her voice. "Settle. I've not forgotten why we're doing this." She held his stare, even as she felt the weariness asserting itself, pulling her to the familiar border; he looked away first, throwing up his hands.

"Understood." He sat up a bit straighter and closed his eyes. "This is the fourth time we've seen someone with two bound souls."

"That's right. I'd say at this point, we should expect to see it more often."

"What are the odds our friends won't stop at two?" Jiriga asked.

'Our friends.' Lately, the irony of that term was growing more bitter. It forced Sidri to reflect on how little they knew about the ones responsible for so many lost and bound souls, so much horror and death--even after years of chasing them and putting down their creations. Sometimes the feeling of hopelessness--no, don't let yourself go there, she told herself.

"Not if the host's will is strong enough," Sidri said. "And that's before we account for the possibility that our friends are refining their techniques."

Jiriga didn't say anything, but Sidri knew what he wanted to ask: did you see any clues? But when she'd touched Partesh's soul, she'd only

seen the same thing she'd always seen--at the moment he was meant to die, a shadow settled over everything he'd seen. From the shadow, a person offered a hand, ablaze with pale fire. Partesh took the hand, and two voices began to wail. There was no way to discern a face; nor did his dark savior speak. Her own silence answered Jiriga's.

"I'll enter a trance to find our next target," she said, leaning to rise until she felt Jiriga's grip on her wrist.

"At least get some sleep first before you do," he said. He watched her closely as she leaned back onto the rock again. "Just because I'm letting you off the hook doesn't mean you didn't overdo it."

Tired as her body was, her mind and heart were too troubled to get much sleep. Still, his earnestness given the deep, dark circles under his own eyes from countless nights on watch shamed her for even considering refusing. We're both incorrigible in our own ways, she thought.

"All right, I will." She sighed and went for her rucksack, digging out a blanket that she unrolled on the ground and laid upon. Her body felt as though it might melt and seep through the fabric into the earth as she lay flat. But how could she empty her head? Behind her closed eyes, she saw the familiar shadow reaching its burning hand out for her. If she couldn't find them, she couldn't stop them. If she couldn't stop them, more children would lose their families.

"The boy," Jiriga said, so quietly she could hardly hear him. "I'm sure he'll be okay, thanks to you. You've earned a rest."

She silently thanked him, and rode that thought to sleep. When she woke, it was still light, but the shadows at the edge of the outcropping had swung around wide and the full heat of late afternoon warped the air beyond. Jiriga was feeding the mules, and turned at the sound of her sitting up.

"I've gotten as much rest as I'm going to," Sidri said, crossing her legs and resting the backs of her hands against her thighs. Jiriga tossed the remaining hay to the ground and came to sit facing her. He was searching her face. "I'm okay, and this place is safe. Let's begin."

He nodded, she took a deep breath in and a look around. She scrutinized the bands of different color in the rocks enclosing them, the tangled shrubs scraping out a living in the cracked ground, the pores on Jiriga's face, cutting them deep into her mind before she loosened her hold on herself. Little by little, cold crept up her fingers into her arms; her heartbeat grew louder, booming in her head; her vision blurred and colors surged forth with violence and life. She fought the urge to gasp and flail about, focusing her mind on Jiriga and the space around them. She could see every slight twitch in his eyes, happening slower and slower.

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Just as she was about to freeze from the inside out, and her heart thundered to deafening, everything came to a stop. She felt neither cold nor warmth; no need for breath. The world was without color, and when she stood, she did so without her body, a mist with her face looking down at her sitting form. She looked around quickly; nobody had been waiting for her arrival. No hands reached up from the ground to pull her who-knows-where. Safe.

Listen close, she said to herself, listen close. From the silence emerged distant voices. There was a sound at first like the wind, but as she listened it became clear that it was a blending of countless voices, each so distant that they barely rose above a whisper. Gradually, certain strains grew stronger, painfully distinct. They used no words, but the sadness, anger, and fear weighed upon her.

A clamor nearby commanded her attention, and she let her spirit fly towards it, passing through the rocks, racing over the dry, rolling wilderness until a village came into view, its paths nearly empty, most of its buildings looking wind-beaten and untended. The buildings clustered most tightly at the foot of a hill. From the twin mouths of a mine dug into it, she heard the voices that called her, saw a roil of blue mist spilling forth, flooding the village. She lingered a moment, listening close, hoping to hear something she might use.

Whomever was calling recognized her presence. Tendrils of mist rushed up towards her, carrying pleas and oaths. She called to mind the bands

of color in the rock faces, the tangled shrubs in the cracked earth, Jiriga's face turned towards her, and felt sensation return to her as she was drawn back into her body. Color returned to the world. She was sat right where she had been, Jiriga watching her with hunter's eyes. She took a moment to steady her breathing and let her heartbeat subside.

"Quarter-day's journey from here, west-by-northwest," Sidri said. "There's a mining village being haunted."

"A ghost? Last time we--"

"No, ghosts. Many ghosts, it must be at least ten. That's not an ordinary haunting."

"You think it means something."

"I think one of our friends tried something big in that mine, and this is the aftermath. If we pacify these ghosts, they might be able to tell us something."

Jiriga furrowed his brow, weighing her words. He'd never much cared for dealing with ghosts; he said he felt far less useful when the target didn't have flesh and blood, but Sidri thought it just as likely that he was too fixated on the Undying to see the value in anything else.

Just two years ago, we almost parted ways over it, she thought. Thankfully, he shrugged and got on his mule without complaint.

Back on the road, they passed the occasional knot of travelers. Some among them gave her nods or slight bows, but kept a respectful distance; they thought her a shaman by her garb and didn't want to risk a curse from the spirits of wind and stone for impertinence. Funny, she thought, that they would be keeping clear for entirely different reasons if they knew what she really was.

When they crossed paths with a grinning merchant who complimented Jiriga's spectacles, she ventured a conversation. Once he seemed at

ease, Sidri asked, "Have you passed through a mining village further up this road? We've heard that we might be able to find a room there

for tonight."

"I have, I have. Though I can't say there's much to commend it, you may as well sleep under the stars, teacher."

"What's wrong with it?"

"Well, teacher, if I may speak plainly, the whole place has a grey mood. I passed through it as a boy when the mines were still running and it was a fine place, but now anyone with any drive and wit leaves as soon as they can since there's nothing there. The people that are left are suspicious and cold and have no gift of gab. And now--and now!--they say it's cursed. Cursed! All because some people have bad dreams and a stage-coach or two disappeared. Not that I know about such things as you would, teacher, but I think--"

The merchant went on at length about his thoughts on the matter, throwing in a few unsolicited opinions on bandits and 'collaborators' while following along with them until Jiriga scared him off with his silent stare. If the people were truly so suspicious in a village small enough to remember every outsider, Sidri thought, it would make their job that much harder. She nursed a hope that the blowhard had simply been exaggerating, but as they came within sight of the village as the sun was finally setting, she let that hope wither.

Standing atop a boulder on the main road into the village was a boy with a drawn face, skipping rocks across the path. He was taking note of every detail, and judging them. He turned and ran into the village before they could say a word. Following his progress, Sidri found her eyes drawn inevitably up to the yawning black mouths of the mine. Cold tingled at the back of her neck.