Nagienvik woke to the sensation of a bird tugging at her wiry black hair. The Ferash Therall opened one eye and stared at her companion. The raven bobbed his head. How can you sleep? Sylesh asked her telepathically.

“I’m tired,” said Nagienvik. “That’s how. Come here.” She put her arm over him. “Can’t have you getting cold.”

Sylesh accepted her warmth grudgingly. Nagienvik knew he hated her heat, but staying alive took priority over comfort. It took priority over everything, as far as she was concerned. Even snuffing out the vermin. Like all Ferash Therall, she had seen the jaws of death once before, and the Iron God had given her a second chance. All this, because she could not bring herself to fathom – much less accept – not existing.

Are you all right, Nagi? Sylesh’s thought slipped into her head.

She stared up at the roof of the abandoned hut. “Do you think in Razar, or does my mind translate it?”

Why do you ask? I don’t know. Sylesh fidgeted a little. Though I must admit, half-awake thoughts are my favorite.

Nagi laughed a little. “I’m simply trying to think of something apart from the fact that Azvalath will probably be hunting us soon enough. Though I’m glad it entertains you.” She sat up and peeked outside. “Looks like it’s evening now. Not too bright out. Let’s go hunt.”

Why the worry? Sylesh asked. He seemed easy enough to neutralize last night. The raven hopped up onto Nagienvik’s fist. Though he didn’t have a weapon.

“That’s right. But now that he knows we’re here, it’ll only be a matter of time before he comes to slaughter us while we’re down during the day.” She stepped outside and took a deep breath. “Scores of us have been lost hunting Azvalath and his partner. I suspect it’s because love brings out the best in some and the worst in others.”

Sylesh looked uneasy. Well, we are attempting to dispatch him.

Nagi made eye contact with the raven. “I’ve said it before, Sylesh. Call him what you will – Vraelen, the Ferash, Iron God, our guardian – he is our god, the creator and guardian of this world and all who call it home. The goddess of Sun who banished him made the rules crystal clear. He can only return to the living world when all of his illegitimate descendants have been eradicated. And without him? Look around, Sylesh. It’s freezing, dying, and getting darker each hour.”

Sylesh stretched his wings. And here we are, committing genocide to make possible the return of a god of life. Have you never thought about the irony in that?

“The Razaghal are not many compared to the trillions of living beings who will be lost with this world if Vraelen never returns. It’s a sacrifice we must be willing to make.” Nagi stroked the bird’s huge wing. “Now fly ahead. See if you can find your wolf. If he’s turned, we have to help him through the next few nights.”

And where are you going? Sylesh asked.

“To find some answers,” said Nagienvik. “If we can’t get them from outside, perhaps we can from within. Track me with your mind. I don’t want us to get separated completely.”

If there’s a problem, said Sylesh, show me a mental image of where you are, and I’ll be there shortly. Here. Link with me. The raven hopped to her shoulder and put his head against hers. They both closed their eyes.

Nagienvik envisioned a fire burning bright. “What do you see, Sylesh?”

It’s so bright. It hurts my eyes. Not even real fire! Sylesh launched himself into the air. See you soon, friend. Don’t run into trouble.

As Sylesh disappeared into the trees, Nagi focused on the soft whisper of him in her mind. That bird was the only one in the whole world to know her friendship, and she fully intended for things to stay that way. Sylesh was the only ally she needed.

She pulled her hood up and headed for the settlement. Now that it was getting dark – dark enough for the likes of her to be out – almost everyone had holed up in their huts. Almost everyone. She came upon a young man sitting outside, trying and failing to start a cookfire. He seethed in frustration.

Nagienvik crouched across the pit from him and pulled her gloves off. He looked up and watched as her fists began to glow a scalding red. She opened her hands to reveal bright flames, then ignited his kindling. The man gasped. She grinned. To use her ability for something other than combat was deeply satisfying.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“Nagienvik,” she said. She was far from fluent in the local language, but introductions were easy enough. “Your name?”

“Perst,” he said. “Thank you, Nagienvik. Tonight, I won’t be cold and hungry.”

She pulled her hood down farther and hoped it obscured her eyes enough. “It is my…” Nagienvik cursed herself silently. She didn’t know their word for pleasure. “My…it makes me feel happy. To help.”

Perst looked confused. “You’re not from Teron, are you?”

She shook her head. “Goodbye, Perst. I must go…home.”

He nodded slowly. Nagienvik got up and ran. To reveal her identity in the wrong place at the wrong time would be suicidal. She darted out of sight, then slowed to a walk. “Focus,” she whispered to herself. “Where are they?”

She stopped and connected with Sylesh. His frustration hit her like a wall of stones. Something had gone very wrong. He couldn’t find whatever he was looking for.

Nagienvik looked around to see if Sylesh was close by. She didn’t see him, but she did see someone walking toward her. Against her better judgment, she let her eyes illuminate. Red light flooded the darkening surroundings. The man had shoulder-length dark brown hair and eyes the same color. In his hands was a strangely familiar-looking sword.

“I made that sword, you know,” she said in Razar. “I make the finest Ferash Therall weapons. Whose corpse did you steal that off of?”

Azvalath didn’t answer. He probably didn’t understand, she reasoned. He stopped far enough away that she could not reach him. In the local language, he spoke to her. “Where is your bird?”

She swallowed hard. Sylesh, whatever you do, DO NOT come to me now. I beg you. She did not want to put his life at stake unnecessarily. “In the sky,” she retorted. “And you have no lightningfisher to fly. Only a tooth around your neck.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Now kneel.”

Her knees hit the ground hard. Nagienvik trembled as Azvalath came closer. She said the Razar word for fire and stared pleadingly at her hands. “Naga.” Her palms glowed a little. “NAGA!”

She smacked the ground with blazing hands. A ring of flames leaped up around her. Azvalath halted. No matter what drove him, he could not cross. He could not touch her. Nagienvik focused on that fact, but it was not enough to convince Sylesh. She knew he would come whether she wanted him to or not.

“If you know what’s good, you won’t come any closer,” she growled. “Unless, of course, you want to burn more than only your right hand.”

He clenched his bandaged hand into a tight fist. “Now…” His voice cut off. Azvalath coughed. “Now…let…down…the flames.”

Her hands went cold. The flames died down to embers. Azvalath stepped closer, but she noticed him drag his feet a little. He looked utterly exhausted. “The commands,” she said. “Are they an ability from Ferash blood? Like my fire?”

He paused. “Now…”

“You can’t,” she said. A small smile formed on her lips. “It’s hurting you. Every time.”

He lifted his sword. “You can’t…wait…what are you doing?” He put a hand on his forehead. Then he screamed. It was a sound of terror, rage, and agony all at once. Nagienvik raised her hand up in the air. Sylesh came down and landed on her fist.

The raven kept his gaze fixed on Azvalath, who fell to his knees and let out another scream. Nagienvik hissed to Sylesh. “Stop! You’ll wake someone else!”

Sylesh glanced at her for a moment. Then we’ll take them on too. He turned back to Azvalath and resumed his assault.

An arrow whistled past and buried itself in the snow behind them. Nagienvik jumped to her feet. Sylesh flew away, startled. Between Sylesh’s panic, Azvalath’s screaming, and the others’ shouting, she could scarcely hear herself breathe. She saw another arrow come flying in her direction. Without hesitation, she raised her hand and incinerated the projectile in midair. After that last burst of flame, an icy chill flooded her bones. Nagi shivered.

“Impressive,” said the one with the bow. She had dark hair and eyes. A faint smile crossed her lips. “You look cold, miss. Why don’t we take you somewhere warm?”

“You fool,” said Nagi. “I’ll…I’ll kill you all…”

“Perst, give Azvalath a hand,” said the woman. “I’ll put our guest away.”

“Yes, Machli,” said the young man by her side. When Nagi recognized him as the one she had helped with the fire, her pulse quickened with rage.

“You,” she snarled. “Did I not help you?”

Machli grabbed her arm and dragged her away. Nagienvik tried to heat her hands again, but she was too cold. Too tired. Pathetic. Weak. She screamed into the merciless wind, but not even Sylesh answered.

Machli smacked her. “Quiet!”

Nagienvik did not recoil. “Dark,” she said. “A dark place. I need a dark place.” When Machli gave her a confused look, she did her best to explain. “The day is too bright. Eyes hurt.” That was the simplest way to put it, she supposed. The eyes of Ferash Therall were adapted to see light in the darkest of places, and in broad daylight, the sun was too bright even for her. “Please?”

Machli shrugged. “I have somewhere in mind.”

That somewhere turned out to be the storeroom in the horse stable.

Machli had humored her request. At least it was dark. And warm. But not warm enough. Nagi was so cold that her fingertips had turned blue. Either that, or the rope around her wrists was tight enough to cut off circulation. The door was also tied shut. Without any heat, she could not free herself.

Nagienvik tried to reach Sylesh, but she heard nothing at all. “Curse you, dirty bird,” she sighed. “You couldn’t hold a mind link for a few moments longer?”

One of the horses kicked its stall door.

“Sylesh? Is that you?” she asked. “Have you gotten into a horse’s head?” Nagi pushed the door open as far as the rope would allow it. She had view of four horses. One was white, another was dappled gray, another was red with a black mane, and the last was solid black. The white horse tossed its head and neighed. The red one pinned its ears.

She let her eyes illuminate a little more. Immediately, all four horses fell still. They turned their heads and stared at her. A pang twisted in her stomach like an angry snake. One of those horses was a Razaghal. She knew it.

Laying a hand on one, however, could be even harder than taking out Azvalath and his partner. She had heard tales from other Ferash Therall. If their stories were to be believed, the Teron people equated the killing of horses to the murder of men. Some bizarre spiritual belief, she suspected.

“Well?” she asked. “Are you here, Sylesh?”

No answer.

She spent the next few hours staring at her hands and waiting for the heat to return. But every time she thought she saw a little glow in her fingers, it turned out to be her eyes instead. Eventually, she gave up and curled up against the wall in an attempt to warm herself. She lost track of time, but eventually, Sylesh answered her.

Nagi, we never should have come. I pray the Ferash to keep you safe.