"Walk forward and light the Menhir Fire so the gods will know where to enter the stone."

Raina felt-the pressure of thousands of gazes upon her back. Her face and neck were slick with sweat. A spark from the torch fell upon her hand, sizzling as it scorched a tiny black hole in her skin. She took another step forward.

Stannig Beade called out to the gods. "Behold Raina Blackhail, the chosen emissary of this clan. Judge her and allow her to step through the flames."

Rama could feel the silver thread in the front panel of her dress growing hot She was almost abreast with Beade now and had a choice between walking over the dais he stood upon, or around it, to get to the Scarpestone.

"The Menhir Fire illuminates the hole I will drill deep into the rock n he had told her two days back. "If all goes well I will tap into a vein, and the gods will be able to make their journey to the heart of the guide, stone. When they are present I will seal up the hole"

She did not know what to do. Instinct warned her not to take another step, that once she passed Beade's dais the heat would be too great to bear. Yet her clan was watching, needing her to step forward. Stannig Beade had manipulated her once again. Had he actually told everyone that if the gods judged her worthy they would kill the flames? The guide scowled ahead, giving nothing away. He was a man who knew how to intimidate a crowd.

And she was his enemy, and he had placed her in a position where he could not lose … and she could not win. Flee and she would let down her clan on this most sacred of nights. Stay and she would be burned.

Raina took the step required to raise herself onto his dais. She turned her head and looked at him, but he would not acknowledge her.

He was a coward then, in the end.

The silver plating on the dais had been so highly polished that standing upon it was like standing on a mirror. Raina glanced down and saw her face staring back. She looked like a puzzled child.

Taking another step, she moved behind Stannig Beade. One more would bring her down on the other side of the dais. She was perhaps two feet off the ground, yet the flames in the trench towered over her. They burned ruthlessly, lashing and curling like blazing whips. Their heat dried Raina's eyeballs, and blew back the hair from her scalp.

Not one sound came from the crowd. She knew what they would see: the rigid black silhouette of a woman bearing a torch. What did they know of such a ceremony? Blackhail hadn't had a new guidestone in seven hundred years. For all anyone knew Stannig Beade could be making it up as he went along.

Raina began the forward motion that would take her oft the dais. Of all the thoughts that were swirling in her head, one came to rest.

Do and be damned.

Rotating her hips, she shifted her momentum and stepped sideways instead of down. Suddenly she was right there, beside Stannig Beade in the center of the dais. Before he had chance to react, Raina held her torch aloft and addressed the crowd.

"Blackhail," she cried. "Our old guide, Inigar Stoop, had hoped this day would never come. Yet he swore to me that if it did he would walk through the fire with his chief. The gods must judge the guide as well as the clan. So I call upon our new guide to accompany me through the flames."

A moment of quiet followed, where the only noise Raina could hear was the pounding of her heart. Stannig Beade made a jerking movement, and filled his lungs to speak.

Someone in the crowd murmured something. There was a gentle push of people forward. And then quite crisply, Anwyn Bird's rang out from the back.

"Yes, guide as well as chief. Inigar always did say that."

"Raina and Stannig," came a second voice, very possibly belonging to Corbie Meese. "Raina and Stannig. Raina and Stannig."

Others took up the chant and it spread like its own kind of fire, rolling out across the crowd. Even one of the Scarpemen near the front began to mouth the words

"Raina and Stannig. Raina and Stannig."

Stannig Beade's neck muscles were twitching like scorpions as he turned to look at her.

Raina did him the courtesy of looking back. "Shall we?"

This was her clan and he had misjudged her influence here, but after this moment he would never underestimate her again. She saw this in him and perhaps later it would make her afraid, but for now she felt triumphant.

She just hoped she wouldn't burn.

Beade did not take her offered hand. Instead he punched a fist into the air, silencing the crowd. "Blackhail! You dishonor the gods. This is not a horse race. Yes, I will walk with the representative of our chief, but beware the ire of the gods " He seared the crowd with stare, replacing anticipation with shamef They ill like clansmen thwarting their

"Woman," he commanded Raina, "step in time with me " She was not a fool and knew not to challenge him any further and they began a solemn walk toward the fire. Flames jumped at them.

Once they were down from the platform the heat hit their faces in waves. Raina kept in perfect time with Beade, matching his stride length and swing. She held the torch high between them, following his example of making a show for the crowd.

Dagro's dress would be forever ruined with sweat, she thought sadly, as perspiration poured from her body into the fabric. Perhaps it was just as well. It made her act like someone else when she wore it.

Stannig Beade knew something Raina did not, for when they drew close enough to the flames to smell their hair and clothes crisping, he made a small gesture with his finger and stepped ahead of her.

As he moved forward the flames died and he entered a world of smoke. Confused, Raina followed him. The stench of burned soil was sickening, and the ground she stepped on was hot. Fire had dazzled her eyes and she thought she saw a figure slipping away from the opposite side of the trench.

"Light the Menhir Fire," Beade ordered, his voice ugly now that they were out of earshot of the crowd.

Raina was glad to get away from him and crossed the short distance to the platform. Fire had tarnished the silver, and the platform's walls were almost black. Above them, the hmes covering the Scarpestone were smoking. Bending at the waist, Raina pushed the torch toward the small stack of sticks laying on the platform's edge. With a jolt of surprise she realized the hides did not reach all the way down to the hole. The foot of the Scarpestone was visible and she could clearly see the pale circle of new stone that had been exposed by Stannig Beade's drill. The hole in its center was the blackest thing Raina had ever seen in her life. It was the color of all things forsaken.

Stannig Beade is right, she realized with a chill. This is no game we play. That hole was a passage for the gods, and if they did not like what they saw tonight they would not take it Yes, Stannig Beade had his tricks—someone had flash-doused the flames for him—but this was no trick. And he and she wanted the same thing: the gods to return to Blackhail.

Sobered by her thoughts, Raina lit the Menhir Fire and prayed for the Stone Gods to notice.