Page 138 of Mikoto and the Reaver Village
Not the kind Michael set for lessons. Nor the sigils he’dread about in books. Kyrie needed something smaller, swifter, subtler.
Patiently, he fiddled with nuances, rejecting severalattempts before he was satisfied. Then he made a dozen. And a dozen more. Anchoringthem to his own soul, he sent them whispering away to mark his prey.
Three reavers walked past his sheltering shrub, close enoughto brush against its leaves, but they didn’t notice. He eased into the open, movedto the nearest tree, and found the crystal embedded in its bark. A blue. Andpleased to be noticed.
He hummed it a little tune, which its neighbors picked up. Kyrielistened to their songs, then taught them one of his own. They wanted to beuseful. He knew just what to ask for.
But sudden inspiration struck him dumb.
While the crystals around him waited, he turned the new ideaover and over, considering it from every possible angle. It was simple. Andbeautiful. But also … terrible.
And tempting.
Wasn’t the point of this test to show Sinder what he coulddo?
But a summer breeze interrupted him, carrying the faintstrain of music. Someone was singing again, high overhead. A compelling voice,yet elusive. As if the song wasn’t meant for everyone to hear. It reminded himof the singer he’d been seeking the first time he climbed into Zisa’s branches.
Were they nearby?
Heedless of the battlers and their search formations, Kyrieran. More winds joined the first, carrying clearer snippets, guiding his way. Hepushed the limits of his speed, afraid that the fleeting music would stopbefore he found its source.
The tree was large, but ordinary, and easy enough to climb. Heclambered upward, pushing past summer leaves, and broke swaying into the muted lightof an overcast morning. The sun was shrouded, yet something was shining. Orrather … someone.
“Hello?” he whispered, hardly believing his eyes.
Someone was resting amidst the leaves a little ways away, swayingwith them. He looked like a man, but he couldn’t have been, sitting with solight a touch, he didn’t bend a single twig.
The face that turned his way was almost too bright to lookat, like light reflected on the surface of the sea. It brought to mind thestories of angels, whose countenances were said to have flashed like lightning.
“H-hello?” he repeated, his voice trembling. “Are you theone who was singing?”
He inclined his head, and his hands framed a plea for peace.Without a word, he stood—or seemed to—and drifted nearer.
Kyrie clung to his branch, which was too thin to be steady.
The person offered his hands, but touching palms would meanletting go. One hand would have to do. Kyrie reached, and the shining personsmiled. His hand was warm, and his grip offered a welcome support.
Inside Kyrie’s mind, a voice gently inquired,“Does myvoice reach you now?”
He nodded, tongue-tied.
“It would be too loud if I spoke. My voice is meant forthe skies.”
That was intriguing. All of this was. “Are you an angel?”
Bending closer, he smiled as if he’d been complimented.“No,Kyrie. Not an angel. I am a star.”
FIFTY
Sacred Places
Lilya stared down at a plain circle of white stone,trying to understand the inscription.
PATH
First of Dogs
we walked together
