Lugh was fixed on bein nearby, in case I need him. He insisted. He argued. But what happens inside the vision lodge ain’t fer nobody to know but me an Auriel. They ain’t to listen or come in or interrupt, no matter what. So I says farewell to everybody. Him an Tommo an Emmi. Tracker an Nero too.

An it feels strange. Serious, somehow, an sad. Like when a person dies. Or when somebody’s startin off on a long journey an you don’t know if you’ll ever see ’em agin. I hug Lugh last of all.

You don’t hafta do this, he says.

Yes I do, I says.

As the sun goes down, we start.

Me an Auriel crawl inside the tent. The air’s stuffy. Close. Already too warm. It’s only jest big enough fer two to sit cross-legged. She scatters dried clover on the hot stones. Wisps of sweet-smellin smoke fill the air. She lets the thick tent flap down. The world’s closed out. We’re closed in. Now it’s only her an me an the truth of what lies within. I cain’t dodge it no more. Cain’t hide. Whatever it is, I’m gonna know it. Look it in the eye. Like Pa told me.

Don’t give in to fear, Saba. Be strong, like I know you are. An never give up. Never.

It’s dark in the tent. Blackness. Eyes open or closed, it’s the same. I cain’t see a thing. I can only hear.

The dip of the ladle. Water splashin onto hot rock. The angry hiss of steam. Then heat. Fierce waves of heat that tighten around me. Choke me. Right away, I’m sweat wet. Despite I ain’t got nuthin on but skivvies.

Auriel starts to chant. To sing. No words I ever heard before. Deep in her throat, then high an keenin, like the wind. She beats the skinbox. Her wrist rattles shimmer the air. The sounds ring in my head, my body.

More steam. My nose, ears, mouth, lungs, filled with steam an heat. Sweat drips offa me. No room to stand. Nowhere to move to. Trapped. In the heat an the sound an the darkness, I’m trapped. My heart flutters like a frightened bird.

But I won’t run. I won’t.

Auriel holds a dipper of water to my lips. I gasp it down. She spills another over my head. Presses a small cup into my hands. Drink, she says. All of it. Then lie down.

I hesitate. But only fer a moment. I tip my head back an drain it in one. The taste of bark on my tongue. It’s like drinkin a tree. Earth. Water. Air. I lay myself on the ground.

Open yerself to the plant, she says. Don’t fight it. Let it take you where it will, teach you what it must, give you what you need.

She chants. She beats a rhythm. The rattles make a noise like crickets. Hunnerds of crickets. Sound an heat an steam fill the tent. Move into me, through me, on an on. Till the edges of me start to blur. Till I lose all sense of time.

The light is around you, says Auriel. Let go, it’s safe to let go.

I slide into the heat an the plant an the sounds. I leave my body, so heavy, so earthbound. An oh . . . the pain’s too much. The hurt an the loss, the wrongness, the fear, the sadness. Too . . . too much to bear. Not jest me. All of us. Livin an dead an yet to be born. The darkest depths beckon me down. Somebody whimpers. It’s me.

Her voice in my ears, in my head. Auriel whispers, In pain lies wisdom. Feel it. Let it take you. I promise it won’t destroy you.

It closes over me. Fills my lungs. The black water of pain. Inside me. Outside. Beside me, beyond an around me. I cry pain out. I breathe it in. Over an over an over. My mother, my father, my sister, my brother. Helen an Tommo an Ike. People I know. People I don’t.

I weep fer the livin. I weep fer the dead. I weep fer the yet to be born. An Epona. I weep fer Epona. Fer life so brief. Over so soon.

Yer friend, says Auriel. Her death was quick an proud. Yer hands on yer bow were merciful. Now she asks that you set her free. That you set yerself free. Let the dead go. Let all of the dead go.

My legs start to tremble. My arms jerk an dance. I’m feverish hot. Freezin cold. Thin sourness leaps to my throat.

Auriel shoves the basin unner my mouth. I’m sick. Violently, suddenly sick.

She gives me water to drink.

From this moment, the Angel of Death is dead, she says.

She lays me down, the stars roll back an I’m in a still, grey place. A wide, flat plain at the edge of the world. It’s the landscape of my dream.

There’s a darkenin sky. The wind blows hard. The old man stands by the twisted tree.

Auriel’s voice. In my head. Ask the pain what it wants of you, she says.

He holds a bow in his hands. It’s white, like the twisted tree. Pale, silvery white.

To hold my bow in my hands agin, says I.

He holds it out. He offers it to me.

Will you take it? says Auriel.

I take it.

The bow was his, she says. My grandfather, Namid, the Star Dancer. The warrior who became a shaman. Now it belongs to you.

I feel its smoothness. Heft its weight. It’s sweet. It’s true. I swing the bow up. Fit a arrow to the string. It cleaves to me. Like it’s part of me. My hands stay steady an sure. No shakes. No trembles.

It’s one piece of wood, she says. The heartwood of the ancient whiteoak. It won’t ever break.

Then the shaman’s gone. I stand alone at the edge of the world. An I hold the white bow in my hands. I aim at the tree, now covered with leaf, green an fresh. The silver bark of its trunk an branches, rough with life.

I shoot.

The tree splits straight down the middle. There’s a flash of lightnin. A rush of wind. Then the rumble, the thunder of hoofs.

The tree’s gone. A body’s there. Lyin there on the ground. On its back. Not movin. My arrow stuck in its heart.

I’m beside it. Kneelin down. My hand reachin out. To the dark red, blood red shawl that covers the face. I draw it aside.

It’s Lugh. He’s dead. My arrow stuck in his heart.

I draw the shawl aside. It’s Jack. Dead. My arrow stuck in his heart.

Then it’s me.

Then DeMalo.

He opens his eyes.

He smiles.

He sees me, I says. He knows me.

All right, she says, it’s okay, I couldn’t quite – I need you to think about him agin. Picture him. Don’t block it.

Tall. Black robes. Metal body armour, breastplate an armbands. Long dark hair tied back. A watchful face. Strong, with broad cheekbones. Eyes so dark they’re almost black.

Ah, she breathes. Tell me his name.

DeMalo, I says.

What does he see? she says. What does he know?

The shadows, says I. Inside me.

We need to look into them, she says. See what’s there. Are you ready?

Yes, I says.

Don’t be afeared, she says. I’m with you, Saba.

I’m crossin a lake in the mountains. In a bark canoe. I’m paddlin. Nero’s huddled, a ragged shadow perched on the prow of the boat. He stares straight ahead.

My pilot. My watchman. My crow.

It’s blackest night. It’s bitterest cold. Above me, the hard stars stab. Like chips of ice.

The water parts as my boat glides through. My paddle dips an drags. It dips. An drags.

I don’t look over the side. I don’t even dare to glance. If I did look, if I dared to, night or no, I’d see ’em. I’d look down down down to the bottom. To the ancient bed of the lake. Where the dark things crouch. Where the old things wait. Where they crouch an wait . . . fer me.

Look down, says Auriel.

Saba! Saba! It’s Lugh’s voice.

Stay there, Saba. Stay with it, we’re nearly there. Auriel’s voice is calm.