She felt sorrow oozing from the stray bits of thought.

Maara understands now, Liyana told her. You can return to your body.

Softly Bayla said, I don’t know if she can. Her grasp on her body was already failing. She has lost the feel of it.

You have to try, Liyana thought at Raan.

She’s whole now, Bayla said. Her voice was gentle. You have helped her. Now it’s time to let her go to the Dreaming.

No! Come back with me, Raan. I’ll guide you. You can do this. I won’t give up on you.

The swirl that was Raan spun faster, knitting tighter together. Raan then sped across the desert, leaving behind the oasis. Liyana sped after her toward the mountains.

Raan, no! Liyana said.

Let her go, Bayla said. She feels the pull of the Dreaming.

But she doesn’t want to die!

If you follow her, you will be pulled in too, Bayla said. Your hold on yourself already weakens.

Liyana slowed. She felt her link to her body. It vibrated like a silk thread pulled taut. She was spread too thin, too far. Soon the magic would fail like it had when she’d stretched herself to see the empire’s encampment. I can’t give up!

Once, there was a fish who learned how to walk on land. He crawled out of the ocean and onto the beach. He explored the meadows and the forests. After many, many days and nights of walking, he crossed the plains and entered the desert. A raven stopped him at the border and said, “You appear lost, little fish with legs.” And the fish replied, “Oh no, I am home.” And so the first lizard entered the desert.

What is your point? Liyana asked. Raan’s soul was flowing faster toward the mountains. She could sense her as if she were a bird against the backdrop of the sunset.

Raan has moved on. Let her go.

Liyana felt Bayla’s soul fold around her. Pulled, she retreated into her body. The excess magic fell away as Liyana huddled within her own skin. She curled into a ball and cried. After a little while, she felt Korbyn curl himself against her and wrap his arms tight around her.

Bayla was silent.

None of them spoke much as they journeyed on.

With three of them capable of magic, they did not need to stop for longer than it took to rest themselves and the horses. The miles flew by.

After only two days of travel, Liyana saw the silhouette of the oasis, black against the bleached blue sky. Soon she saw the outline of tents. She increased her horse’s speed to a trot and then to a canter. Sand bloomed under Gray Luck’s hooves. The others followed.

As she got closer, she saw people between the familiar outline of tents. She felt her mouth go dry, and she drank in the view. Goats bleated. She saw children run to the edge of camp and point. By the time she was close enough to see faces, men and women had joined the children.

“Mother! Father!”

Liyana dismounted before Gray Luck halted. She landed on her knees, and then she scrambled to her feet and ran toward her parents. She ripped off her head cloth so they could see her face.

“Liyana!” Jidali shoved through the adults and ran across the sand. She dropped to the ground in front of him, and her little brother leaped into her arms. “Is it you? Is it really, really you?”

“It’s me,” Liyana said.

Jidali hugged her hard.

She heard a moan sweep through the clan like the wind. A few wailed. Others turned away. Vessel, perhaps you should tell them that I am here as well, Bayla suggested.

“Not just me, though,” Liyana said. “Bayla is inside me.”

Talu elbowed and pushed to the front. She fell to her knees in front of Liyana and touched her face. “My goddess? How . . . how is this possible?”

“I have a story to tell you, to tell all of you,” Liyana said. She rose to her feet. “But first, this is Korbyn, god of the Raven Clan, and this . . . this is Maara, goddess of the Scorpion Clan.”

Chieftess Ratha approached. “We bid you welcome to the Goat Clan. Join us for the sharing of tea.” She signaled to several boys in the group. “We will tend to your mounts.” Ger and two other boys ran up to claim their horses.

Wordlessly Father embraced her. She buried her face in his shoulder and breathed him in. She felt as if she were inhaling every memory of her childhood.

“Good to see you found our pack,” Mother said.

Jidali tugged on her sleeve. “Did you use my knife?”

“Your knife saved our goddess,” Liyana said. She took his hand, and he squeezed with all the strength in his small fingers. “Come, I’ll tell you everything.”

Jidali skipped next to her. “We found your bells! We buried them under the largest palm tree for your funeral. I got to say the burial prayer. I didn’t miss any words!”

“Um, that’s wonderful, Jidali.”

Several people wanted to touch her as she passed, as if to reassure themselves that she was not a dream. A few bowed. Others kept their distance, as if she were dangerous. The master weaver blocked her children with her broad skirts.

Liyana was swept toward the council tent. Blankets were laid outside in the shade of the tent walls, and tea was served. Korbyn and Maara sat on either side of her, and Jidali positioned himself by her feet and would not move.

Fanning out around her, the clan quieted.

All of a sudden she could not think of what to say. Squeezing her hand, Korbyn smiled encouragingly. For once, she was certain that he was seeing her, not Bayla.

Begin with this, Bayla said. On the day she was to die . . .

“On the day she was to die,” Liyana said, “a vessel woke to see the sun. . . .”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

With Bayla, Liyana filled the well. Korbyn caused the dates to ripen. Maara drew various rodents, snakes, and birds to the camp for meat. After feasting with the clan, Korbyn and Maara were led to guest tents, and Liyana was given her old sleeping roll in her family’s tent. She collapsed into her blankets and was asleep instantly.

She woke to the smell of flatbread cooking on the family fire pit, and for an instant she thought she’d dreamed it all. I missed that bread, Bayla said.

Liyana sat up.

“Ooh, you’re awake!” Aunt Sabisa bustled toward her. “You have been using your hair as a nest for rodents and birds.” She whipped out a metal-toothed comb.

Liyana shrank back. “Isn’t that the goats’ comb?”

“You have goat’s hair.” Aunt Sabisa stabbed it into the thick of Liyana’s hair and yanked. “Hold still. Bayla will thank me for this.”

Please thank her for me, Bayla said, amused.

Relaying the message, Liyana winced as Aunt Sabisa tugged on a clump of hair. “Are Korbyn and Maara awake?”

“Both went into the chief and chieftess’s tent an hour ago.”

Liyana stood up with the brush dangling from a clump of hair. “I should join them!”

“Sit down, Liyana, I’m not finished. You do not need to join them. You talked enough yesterday. Let them speak their fill.”

Out of habit Liyana obeyed. She felt Bayla’s amusement bubble inside her. Clearly, Liyana said, you have never tried disobeying Aunt Sabisa.

“Is it true what you said last night?” Aunt Sabisa asked. “She is inside of you?” She wiggled the brush through a thick snarl.

“Yes, of course,” Liyana said. “I wouldn’t lie to you.”

“Except for the time you sneaked a slice of my pie.”

“I was six.”

“And the time you borrowed my finest scarf without asking.”

“Four years old.”

“And when you let the goats out of the pen.”

“Maybe a bit more recently,” Liyana said, “but in fairness, it was an accident.”

“And then there was the incident with the chickens. . . .”

Bayla’s laughter felt like a spring of bubbles. You are beginning to lose credibility with me. Liyana realized she had never heard her goddess laugh.