Jiriga was waiting for her at the mouth of the pass when she'd finished, inspecting his mule's hooves.

"How did it go?" he asked. He had not turned to see her, but recognized the sound of her footsteps. They'd spent far too much time in each other's company, she thought.

"Easily enough. He likely would have been fine without my help," Sidri said.

"Still, better to have done it," Jiriga said. Did he mean for the dead man's sake, her sake, or did he simply fear any soul might become their problem at this point? He showed no interest in continuing the conversation, and after he'd satisfied himself that his mule was well, remounted and led her a ways off the main road to a path up the eastern rise.

As the rifts the bandits had burst from appeared before them, Sidri could see why they liked this place for a hideout. With a closer view, she could see many of the paths terminating around corners. Others twisted and turned in a way that made them forbidding to outsiders and prime positions for those who knew them well. The drop was deep and steep enough that the only way to descend from above was by rope, but there was hardly anything to anchor to, and the few large rocks there were masked abrupt falls. They followed the southernmost rift at a remove until they could see it converge with others ahead of them, dismounted and kept low to the ground, crawling the last stretch.

There was no mistaking the hideout when they saw it; in the place where the rifts all met their end, two men stood guard with rifles in front of an arch that could have welcomed a giant and opened onto walls of banded orange-and-red stone. The only approaches were the cracks in the ridge, and the guards had clear lines of sight on each of them.

"This could be tricky," Jiriga said softly, crawling back from the edge. "I'm confident I can take out both guards before they say anything, but unlikely we'd get into the cave before someone notices. We can hope they come out in broad daylight like idiots, but odds are good they know enough about the land to get the drop on us."

"I was thinking something less aggressive," Sidri said. "Think about it, if what Jawal said is true and Rahun was really raised from the dead, that's something entirely different than what we've dealt with before. Do we really want to put him on guard when we know nothing about what he's capable of?" It was half true: it was certainly possible Rahun was some new breed of Undying, but she didn't sense anything unusual; she was leaning on the hope that Jiriga would take her at face value. He studied her for a moment, then gave her a slight nod.

"Bearing in mind that we don't know what the villagers have told the bandits, if anything," Jiriga said, "what were you thinking?"

"You said something to Jawal about people like this Rahun--they like to think of themselves as heroes, right?" Sidri smiled faintly. "I happen to have some experience with people like that. Not bandits, mind you, but human nature is . . . well. Let's try a variation on our 'couple' cover story. This time we'll be on the run because my husband found out about my younger man."

"I can't see the angle," Jiriga said.

Hardly surprising, Sidri thought. "Look, when a young man who fancies himself heroic has the opportunity to 'save' some woman in need, he goes blind. And before you say something about my age--it's true even when he doesn't want the woman for himself."

"Wouldn't I be getting in the way of that?"

"No, you're part of the bait. It's all the sweeter if he thinks he can show you up."

Jiriga shook his head. "You can be frightening, sometimes."

They found a space underneath a stone back along their path where they could hide Jiriga's rifle and other conspicuous belongings. They rubbed dust into their coats, and Sidri struck herself hard across the mouth, hoping for a bruise that would give their story credence. They rode their mules back into the narrows, turning off when Jiriga recognized the mouth of one of the paths that reached all the way to the hideout. It wasn't hard for them to carry themselves with the weariness their act demanded; they simply let go of the discipline they'd both honed over long years to keep their ever-present exhaustion at bay.

They were casting empty stares on the ground when they appeared before the guards, and feigned fear and amazement when they heard their shouts.

"Stop right there! Don't move, don't do anything funny," one said, training his sights on Jiriga. The other approached at a saunter, sizing them up like pieces of meat.

"Now what do we have here?" He tilted his head side to side, trying to see what they had that he might take, Sidri thought. With the unsteady aim of the one and the cavalier manner of the other, it was clear they weren't dealing with a disciplined group; a relief in some ways, unpredictable and dangerous in others.

"Please," Jiriga said, putting a quiver in his voice. "We were only looking for a place to shelter for the day. We've ridden a long way and my wife needs to rest." Sidri averted her eyes; she heard the steps of the bandit approaching, flinched dramatically when he reached up to turn her face.

"Uh-huh. Your wife looks a good ten years older than you. And you've given her a fat lip." He was impressed with his own powers of observation. "Wanna try again?"

"He's my lover," Sidri said softly.

"Darling, let me han--" Jiriga started, pausing when he felt the other bandit's rifle muzzle press into his cheek.

"Let the lady talk, friend," he said flatly. Sidri knew the delicacy of the moment, but she also knew her lines well.

"We're running away from my husband. He gave me this bruise."

"Found out about you and lover boy here, did he?" the bandit asked, chuckling as a lurid story started to form itself in his head. The hook was in.

"No, this was for . . . something else," Sidri said. She met the bandit's eyes with a show of effort. "But it's not the first time. We thought if he found out, he might . . ."

"What do you think we should do with them?" one asked the other. The one with his gun in Jiriga's face nodded at the holsters on each of their guests' waists; his comrade's eyes went wide and he scrambled to inspect them, whistling at the pistols.

"These are nice. Where--"

"Please, take our things and let us be on our way. The reward isn't--" Sidri bit her lip abruptly. Jiriga sighed, shutting his eyes as though she'd given something away.

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"So that's why you have a high class accent. Your husband's some rich city type, isn't he? Hey, let's take them to the boss, see what he wants to do with them." They pulled them down from their mules and led them along with the muzzles of their rifles prodding into their backs.

The cave was a wide open gallery of natural pillars, the roof pockmarked with small gaps where the sun peeked in; just far enough in that they couldn't be seen from outside sat the rest of the gang, gathered round an unlit firepit eating and sifting through the spoils of their earlier raid. They stopped what they were doing to study the newcomers; by the way they all turned to look at one man, it was clear he was their leader--the man who'd been shot in the back as they left the caravan. The only evidence Sidri could see of it now was a small hole in the front of his shirt--no blood, let alone any wound.

He was surprisingly young--maybe in his mid-twenties at the oldest. No wonder those boys would have admired him, she thought. He looked wild with his long, matted hair and scraggly beard, but he wore a mild smirk on his face and strolled up to them with an easy confidence.

"Who are these supposed to be?" he asked.

"This woman's run out on her husband with this guy. There's a reward for her."

"You can't send me back to him," Sidri said. The leader looked closely at the bruise around her mouth; his expression darkened for just a moment.

"And how'd you end up here?" he asked. "Not exactly somewhere you just stumble on."

"I thought we should try to find somewhere to shelter off the main road," Jiriga said.

"You think someone's following you?"

Sidri and Jiriga both looked at the ground. The young man clapped them on the shoulders. "All right, all right. You two will stay here tonight as my guests. Tomorrow, I'll send you on your way."

The moment his hand fell on Sidri's shoulder, it was unmistakable; though his hand was as warm as the air, she felt her shoulder had frozen through to the bone. There was one other soul in there with him, though the contact was so brief she had no time to speak to it. After the cold receded, she realized that a conversation had moved on without her, and Rahun was turning back to her.

"My name's Rahun, by the way," the leader said. "These two who've been escorting you are Grish and Tathrik. They're new, don't quite know how I do things. I won't ask you for your names. The less I know about you, the better."

He led them to an empty spot by the firepit and motioned for some rice and mutton to be brought to them. He watched them with interest as they ate; they made a point of looking around with a mix of fear and uncertainty, letting him see it clearly.

"Heh, I can guess what you're thinking. And you're right, we're bandits. We hit up a trading caravan a few hours ago. What do you think about that?"

Sidri paused as she was lifting a spoonful of rice to her mouth, looking at Jiriga, who fiddled with his spectacles and looked everywhere but at Rahun.

"That's, ah, none of our business. We're just grateful you took us in."

There were a few chuckles from the other

bandits--one said 'Good answer, friend.' Rahun shrugged.

"I dunno what they think in the towns and cities, but out here, this is how we take care of the folks that got cheated by the Empire. The Ekbena set up all sorts of mines and mills and started pulling people off the pastures and into villages. Changed the way folk have been living for thousands of years, then when they lost the power to tell us what to do, they took everything away." The faintly amused expression he'd been wearing gave way to a thoughtful, proud bearing. "The traders aren't friends to the folk stuck in the villages, so it's up to us to help them out."

"As he said, it's none of our business," Sidri said. "Besides, I'm in no position to judge anyone."

"Hm." Rahun didn't quite frown, but he wasn't satisfied with that response. He rose from his spot and went to talk to the other bandits, then disappeared further into the caverns. They were never left alone, but periodically one of the bandits would bundle up most of his share of the goods and wander off; there'd be echoes of hoofbeats coming from somewhere further away, and they would reappear hours later without the bundle.

When night fell, they were given straw mats and the fire was lit to warm the cold stone. Rahun came and set near them, looking wide awake.

"You don't have to stay up on my account," he said softly, "But I don't sleep much lately and I was hoping we could talk to pass some of the time."

"I don't mind," Sidri said. "But let Jiriga sleep. He has kept himself awake for my safety a while now." Jiriga would, she knew, feign sleep perfectly while keeping his ears trained for the slightest hint of trouble; the success or failure of their ruse hinged on her subtlety now.

"Why did you take us in?" she asked. "You could have robbed us, given our things to the villagers you care for."

Rahun shrugged. "I could make up something about 'Your husband has trapped and exploited you like the empire did to the villages,' but that'd be bullshit. I guess it just made me feel good to do it. And I guess you look a bit like my mother."

"You must have been a problem child," Sidri said, smiling softly.

"Was I ever." Rahun, like most young folks, had a favorite topic--himself. The more they spoke, the more he loosened his tongue about his past, his dreams--Sidri spooled out the thread of talk with little questions and shows of interest until she'd learned most of the events of his life. She was struggling to stay awake, but she won the battle of wills and Rahun asked leave to call it a night first. She waited in silence until the shallow steadiness of his breathing assured her he was asleep.

She had a perfect opportunity--richly detailed stories from the man himself fresh in her mind, nobody awake to interfere, but she hesitated at the precipice. If the story Jawal told was true, what had been to Rahun was completely unique, and there was no telling what would become of him if she succeeded in exorcising the soul bound to him. He was a thief. He had killed a few people. Still, there was a simplicity to him that was hard to dislike.

Sidri forced herself to reach out her hand and place it over his face, letting her soul stretch across the boundary. She braced herself for the wash of other souls . . . but there was only silence.