“I do a lot of things, sweetheart.”

She bristled. “I need you to take me to the gods.”

Chaghan looked smug. “I thought you didn’t have a problem calling the gods.”

“I can’t do it as easily as Altan can.”

“But you can do it.”

Her fingers curled into fists by her sides. “I want to do what Altan can do.”

Chaghan raised an eyebrow.

She took a deep breath. Chaghan didn’t need to know what had happened in the office. “I’ve been trying for months now. I think I’ve got it, I’m not sure, but there’s something . . . someone that’s blocking me.”

Chaghan assumed a mildly curious expression, tilting his head in a manner painfully reminiscent of Jiang. “You’re being haunted?”

“It’s a woman.”

“Really.”

“Come with me,” she said. “I’ll show you.”

“Why now?” He crossed his arms over his chest. “What happened?”

She didn’t answer his question. “I need to do what he can do,” she said flatly. “I need to call the same power that he can.”

“And you didn’t bother with me before because . . .”

“You weren’t fucking here!”

“And when I returned?”

“I was obeying the warnings of my master.”

Chaghan sounded like he was gloating. “Those warnings no longer apply?”

She set her jaw. “I’ve realized that masters inevitably let you down.”

He nodded slowly, though his expression gave nothing away. “And if I can’t get rid of this . . . ghost?”

“Then at least you’ll understand.” She held out her hands. “Please.”

That supplication was enough. Chaghan gave a slight nod, and then beckoned her to sit down beside him. While she watched, he unpacked his knapsack and spread it out on the stone floor. An impressive supply of psychedelics was packed inside, tucked neatly into more than twenty little pockets.

“This is not derived from the poppy plant,” he said as he mixed powders into a glass vial. “This drug is something far more potent. A small overdose will cause blindness. More than that and you will be dead in minutes. Do you trust me?”

“No. But that’s irrelevant.”

Chuckling softly, Chaghan gave the vial a shake. He dumped the mixture into his palm, licked his index finger, and dipped it lightly in the drug so that the tip of his finger was covered by a light smattering of fine blue dust.

“Open your mouth,” he said.

She pushed down a swell of hesitation and obliged.

Chaghan pressed the tip of his finger against her tongue.

She closed her eyes. Felt the psychedelics seep into her saliva.

The onset was immediate and crushing, like a dark wave of ocean water had suddenly slammed on top of her. Her nervous system broke down completely; she lost the ability to sit up and crumpled at Chaghan’s feet.

She was at his mercy now, completely and utterly vulnerable before him. He could kill me right now, she thought dully. She didn’t know why it was the first thought that sprang to her mind. He could get rid of me now, if he wanted to.

But Chaghan only knelt down beside her, grasped her face by her cheeks, and pressed his forehead against hers. His eyes were open very, very wide. She stared into them, fascinated; they were a pale expanse, a window into a snowy landscape, and she was traversing through them . . .

And then they were hurtling upward.

She hadn’t known what she had expected. Not once in two years of training had Jiang guided her into the spirit realm. It had always been her mind alone, her soul alone in the void, journeying up toward the gods.

With Chaghan, she felt as if a piece of her had been ripped away, was clutched in the palm of his hand, being taken somewhere of his choosing. She was immaterial, without body or form, but Chaghan was not; Chaghan remained as solid and real as before, perhaps even more so. In the material world, he was gaunt and emaciated, but in the realm of spirit he was solid and present . . .

She understood, now, why Chaghan and Qara had to be two halves of a whole. Qara was grounded, material, fully made of earth. To call them anchor twins was a misnomer—she alone was the anchor to her ethereal brother, who belonged more in the realm of spirit than he did in a world of flesh and blood.

The route to the Pantheon was familiar by now, and so was the gate. Once again the Woman materialized in front of her. But something was different this time; this time the Woman was less like a ghost and more like a corpse; half her face was torn away, revealing bone underneath, and her warrior’s garb had burned away from her body.

The Woman stretched a hand out toward Rin in supplication.

“It’ll eat you alive,” she said. “The fire will consume you. To find our god is to find hell on earth, little warrior. You will burn and burn and never find peace.”

“How curious,” said Chaghan. “Who are you?”

The Woman whirled on him.

“You know who I am,” she said. “I am the guardian. I am the Traitor and the Damned. I am redemption. I am the girl’s last chance for salvation.”

“I see,” Chaghan murmured. “So this is where you’ve been hiding.”

“What are you talking about?” Rin demanded. “Who is she?”

But Chaghan spoke past her, directly to the woman. “You should have been immured in the Chuluu Korikh.”

“The Chuluu Korikh can’t hold me,” hissed the Woman. “I am a Speerly. My ashes are free.” She reached out and stroked Rin’s damaged cheek like a mother caressing her child. “You don’t want me gone. You need me.”

Rin shuddered at her touch. “I need my god. I need power, and I need fire.”

“If you call it now, you will bring down hell on earth,” the Woman warned.

“Khurdalain is hell on earth,” said Rin. She saw Nezha screaming in the fog, and her voice wavered.

“You don’t know what true suffering is,” the Woman insisted angrily.

Rin curled her fingers into fists at her sides, suddenly pissed off. True suffering? She had seen her friends stabbed with halberds, shot full of arrows, cut down with swords, burned to death in poisonous fog. She had seen Sinegard go up in flames. She had seen Khurdalain occupied by Federation invaders almost overnight.

“I have seen more than my fair share of suffering,” she hissed.

“I’m trying to save you, little one. Why can’t you see that?”

“What about Altan?” Rin challenged. “Why haven’t you ever tried to stop him?”

The Woman tilted her head. “Is that what this is about? Are you jealous of what he can do?”

Rin opened her mouth, but nothing came out. No. Yes. Did it matter? If she had been as strong as Altan, he wouldn’t have been able to restrain her.

If she were as strong as Altan, she could have saved Nezha.

“That boy is beyond redemption,” said the Woman. “That boy is broken like the rest. But you, you are still pure. You can still be saved.”

“I don’t want to be saved!” Rin shrieked. “I want power! I want Altan’s power! I want to be the most powerful shaman there ever was, so that there is no one I can’t save!”