No, the girl within whimpered. Please. I don't want to see.

Lici ignored her. When had she become so cruel, so merciless?

At first she didn't recognize it. That small thing? That wreck of a house? But yes. That second one beyond it belonged to Sosli's family. Of that she was certain. So this one had to be hers.

Please. Get away from here.

She stared at the house, or at least what was left of it. The front door was gone-only a pair of rusted hinges gave any indication that it had been there at all. There were large holes in the front and side walls, and looking into the house, she could see bright spots where daylight poured through the remains of the roof. And like fragments of an old rhyme, recollections of this house in which she'd spent her earliest years came back to her. Some she welcomed, as she would warmth from a fire or the scent of her mother's newly baked bread. From others she recoiled, though, of course, she could hardly welcome some without accepting all.

She could hear the little girl sobbing now, but try as she might, Lici couldn't make out what she said. In another moment, the sound had vanished, replaced by distant cries and the moans of the ill and, finally, by the distant rumble of an approaching storm. She didn't need the girl to tell her what was coming, to warn her away from this place. She was desperate to flee, but the time for that had passed. If only she had listened before.

Her torch sputters with each gust of wind and hisses in the rain. She's crying, fear of the dark and the storm and the pestilence robbing her of whatever courage she might once have possessed. Her knees and shins ache from all the falls she's taken.

Still, she stumbles on, desperate now for any sign of a village or even a single house. Anything to relieve the relentless darkness of the wood.

It starts to rain harder Licaldi can hear the thunder growing nearer by the moment, growling like some great beast stalking her through the wood. She glances repeatedly at her torch. There can be no mistake: The flame is dying.

The path leads her up a steep incline, and several times she almost loses her footing. Just as she reaches the top, a bright flash illuminates the forest. Mere seconds later a clap of thunder makes the earth shudder

Suddenly, though, Licaldi doesn't care about the storm, or her failing torch, or her sodden clothes. Not far from the crest of the hill a faint light shines, half hidden by the trees, dimmed by the rain.

Licaldi breaks into a run, shouting for help and waving the torch over her head. A lone house? No. A village, larger than her own. Its houses look solid and comfortable, as if they have been built with a night like this one in mind. Most of the windows are shuttered, the doors closed. But as Licaldi continues to yell, making her way toward the marketplace, shutters and doors open, revealing white-haired men and women who peer out at her warily.

A Qirsi village! Gods be praised!

Lici shook her head and made herself look away from the house. Gazing toward the wash through a web of branches and tree trunks she could see the water sparkling like shattered glass. A flock of finches twittered and scolded in the branches overhead, and the trees whispered as a breath of wind brushed her skin.

She picked up the reins again and began to turn the cart, taking care to steer away from the house, so she wouldn't have to look at it again. It was far quicker to take the road through the village and the old marketplace, but Lici was eager now to be gone from this place. The last thing she needed was to drive her cart through the heart of Sentaya.

She was only halfway around when she stopped again.

The door is shut, the windows closed tight. Maybe, she thinks, they're all right after all.

But she knows better She pushes the door open. Utter darkness, save for the deep orange glow of embers that settle noisily in the hearth. The smell of sweat and vomit reach her and she gags.

"Mama?" she whispers through clenched teeth. "Papa?"

No answer

"Kytha? Baet?"

A glimmer of lightning brightens the house and Licaldi screams at what she sees. Both of her sisters are in their beds, their sleeping gowns and blankets soiled. Licaldi's father lies on the floor beside Kytha's bed, curled into a ball, as if too weak to make it back to his own bed. Kytha and Baet might well be sleeping, so peaceful do they look. But her father's eyes are still open, fixed on some spot on the ceiling.

Licaldi takes a step backward, turns away, and retches.

When her stomach is empty, and her throat is so sore she can barely draw breath, she goes to find her mother.

She knows just where to look. If Mama isn't in the house with Papa and the girls, she's by the stream, where she would have gone to get water for the others.

Licaldi staggers out of the house and makes her way down to the wash. Mama is lying on the bank of the stream, in much the same position Licaldi's father had been in. Licaldi hurries to her crying out "Mama, Mama!" like she did when she was small, even younger than Baetri. Baet, who'• dead.

Incredibly, her mother still lives, though only just.

"Licaldi?" her mother murmurs, as Licaldi kneels beside her

"Yes, Mama. Its me."

"Did you bring healers?"

Licaldi touches her mother's cheek with the back of her hand. Her skin is aflame. Lightning flares, and Licaldi catches a glimpse of her mother's- face. White as bone and though her eyes are open wide, it seems that they see nothing. It won't be long now.

"Did you, child?"

"Yes, Mama. I brought healers."

Mama smiles and closes her eyes. "Good girl," she says, the words coming out as soft as a sigh. "I knew you would."

"You there!"

Lici's eyes snapped up and she shuddered, as if released from a spell. Perhaps a hundred fourspans down the lane, an Eandi man sat atop a peddler's cart much larger than her own. He was far younger than she, with an ample gut and a full shock of red hair that poked out from beneath a leather wide-brimmed hat. The wood of his wagon was a pale, warm tan, and the beast hitched to the front was a large bay, fit and strong. This was a man of some means, a man who had done well for himself.

Grateful for the distraction, she smiled, and raised a hand in greeting. The man flicked his reins and the bay started forward. Lici drove her cart in his direction, so that in mere moments their carts were side by side. "Are you all right?" he asked.

"Yes, fine," she said. Too quick with her response, too much brightness in her voice. "I used to live here," she said a moment later. "Many years ago. I was just… remembering."

The man nodded. "You live nearby, then?"

"Not very, no. I've been abroad for some time now." She gestured vaguely back at her cart. "I've baskets that I've been trying to sell." She noted that his eyes strayed toward her cart. Perhaps, if he was headed in the right direction, she could interest him in some or all of her wares. "And you?" she asked, offhandedly.

He met her gaze again, and smiled. He had a handsome face, despite the fleshy chin and round cheeks. "I came this way hoping to find some Mettai goods, some Y'Qatt blankets, things of that sort. Things you don't often find in Tordjanne. But it's proving harder than I expected."

Mettai, Y'Qatt. This was why the gods had steered her back into Sentaya. This was why she had ignored the little girl. This was why she had chanced those memories, sharp enough to draw blood. She needed to proceed carefully, though. She couldn't seem too eager to be rid of so many fine baskets. And somehow, before he left with her wares, she needed to place the spell on them.