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  “What heart wish?” he asked gently. And what, exactly, was a heart wish?

  not yours heart wish. danyal heart wish. she will know.

  Know what? he wondered. “Who is she?”

  Instead of answering, the currents of power drifted away, leaving him shaken.

  He needed to tell the Shaman Council at least some of what had just happened. He needed to tell Kanzi not to use the bridge on the western road. And, privately, he needed to ask Farzeen if the Elders knew anything about heart wishes—or had ever heard of the world speaking to a Shaman instead of manifesting emotions into tangible pieces of itself.

  Danyal tore up the rest of his meal, scattering it for the birds and other creatures. Then he settled the daypack on his shoulder and hurried back to Kanzi’s house.

  When he reached the house, his nephew took the daypack, handed him a sealed letter, and gave him privacy.

  Danyal broke the seal and read…

  Danyal,

  A darkness has come to the city of Vision. We do not know its name or its nature, but now we are certain it is there. Shamans who tend pieces of the northwest and southern parts of the city are reporting that they can no longer see some streets they had walked last season, can no longer sense what is taking place in the hearts of the people who live there—can no longer be a voice for the world because something is making us blind and mute.

  We promised you a year to rest from your duties and search for what your own heart seeks. We are breaking that promise, and it grieves me that you will have to end your visit with your nephew and return immediately to take up your new duties as the Keeper of the southern Asylum.

  We know you are tired, and we know this is a difficult task—and I alone understand the cruelty of asking this of you when you are concerned about your own sanity. Shamans are not usually Asylum Keepers. We are too attuned to the inner landscapes of the people around us, and being around the broken day after day eventually breaks us too. But the bone readers and fortune tellers are all sending us the same message: there will be a convergence of allies and enemies in a place of shadows—a madman and a teacher, a guide and a monster. The madman is the reason we want one of our own as Asylum Keeper.

  The council considered every Shaman, regardless of age, and we all agreed. It comes down to you, Danyal. You are not like other Shamans. You never were, and what your own heart needs is something the Elders cannot give you. Because of that and your unusual ability to see the hearts of others so clearly, you are the one chance we have to save Vision. As much as you love this city, you are seeking something beyond what you can find here. We are hoping the needs of your own heart will lead you to the person who can help us see and understand the enemy.

  We will give you every assistance we can, but in the end, it is your voice that will speak for us all—and for our piece of Ephemera.

  Travel lightly,

  Farzeen, on behalf of the Shaman Council

  Danyal folded the letter. Yesterday he would have wondered if they were sending him to the Asylum to find a madman or because they believed he was one. Now that he knew he was sane, he couldn’t tell the council about what happened on the bridge, couldn’t tell them the world had spoken to him. He didn’t want this assignment, but he needed to be the one who took it because Ephemera’s words floated through his mind: not yours heart wish. danyal heart wish. she will know.

  The world communicating with him now wasn’t a coincidence. Not when parts of the city were changing and a strange piece of land appeared and disappeared.

  “Let your heart travel lightly, because what you bring with you becomes part of the landscape,” he whispered.

  Then he left the room to find Nalah and give his excuses—and to find Kanzi and warn him to stay away from the bridge on the western road.

  Chapter 3

  Lee followed one familiar road after another, maintaining an easy walking pace that covered a good bit of ground in a day. He’d been using his little island to travel between landscapes, as he’d promised Yoshani he would do, but the weather was fine and the walking helped soothe the restless unhappiness he couldn’t shake. Just like he couldn’t shake the feeling that he should be somewhere else.

  But where was that somewhere else? That was the main reason he was walking so much instead of using his island to shift from one bridge location to the next. He’d been keeping a log for the past nine years. He knew where his bridges were located. But keeping an eye out for connections other Bridges had made with his mother’s or Glorianna’s landscapes required being close enough to feel their resonance. Therefore, he was walking so he could check out anything that caught his attention.

  It was a good cover story, and he was going to stick to it—especially since it gave him an excuse to avoid his family as well as friends like Teaser, who lived in the Den of Iniquity. The incubus had spent an hour the other night telling him about a girl he had befriended. No sex, just walks and a little talk and holding hands. For an incubus, such behavior was unheard-of unless it led to the kind of steamy dreams the incubi fed on.

  A couple of years ago, Teaser wouldn’t have considered doing such a thing, but a lot of things had changed in the Den when Sebastian fell in love with Lynnea and opened up possibilities that hadn’t existed.

  Everyone has a chance to change except me, he thought, struggling to push away the anger and bitterness that often filled him.

  All his life, he’d never doubted that keeping Glorianna safe from the wizards was worth the things he didn’t dare want for himself—like a real lover or having a piece of his life that wasn’t defined by what his sister needed. Lately, he’d begun to wonder if anything he’d done had ever mattered. Did anyone in his family realize how frightened he’d been during those years at the Bridges’ School? The instructors had watched him, always ready to report him to the wizards if he manifested some oddity in the power that allowed Bridges to connect pieces of Ephemera. They had watched for any sign that he might be in contact with his sister.

  Even after he left the school, he had to report back a couple of times each season to list the bridges he’d created or broken or reinforced. He reported the bridges in his mother Nadia’s landscapes and those he’d made in other Landscapers’ pieces of the world, but he never admitted to traveling in any of Glorianna’s landscapes.

  Nine years of being friends and partners as well as siblings. Nine years of being the person she trusted with the landscapes in her care as well as being one of the few people who knew how to find her. Then Michael, a Magician from a country called Elandar, walked into her life and everything changed.

  Why have a brother for company when she could have a lover?

  You’re jealous because you have to share? Sebastian had said, sounding pissed off and appalled. Grow up, Lee.

  Easy enough for Sebastian to say. He hadn’t been in the thick of it day after day. He’d been the Den of Iniquity’s premier bad boy, an incubus who could pick up lovers just by strutting down the Den’s streets.

  Lee sighed as he reached the bridge he wanted to check. That wasn’t a fair assessment of Sebastian or the incubus’s life. “I wasn’t pissed off because I have to share,” he muttered. “I want Glorianna to be happy. I just—”

  The bridge in front of him blurred. Light, dark, and in between. One moment it was a stationary bridge that linked two of his mother’s landscapes, and the next it was resonating wildly in a way he’d never felt before—as if something were grabbing blindly in a desperate attempt to find a handhold anywhere.

  Then the blurring stopped and the bridge was back to being a stationary bridge.

  “Guardians and Guides,” Lee whispered, feeling as if he’d been spun around and shaken. He’d felt something like this only once before, when Michael’s sister, Caitlin Marie, had yearned for someone who could understand her. That yearning had resonated through the currents of power so strongly, he had been able to follow the resonance and find her. But Caitlin had been a single resonance. This almost fel
t like three that were entwined somehow.

  What—or who—was he supposed to find this time?

  Currents of power swirled around him once, twice, thrice.

  When the ground felt steady again, Lee turned away from the bridge and reached for one of the trees that bordered the path to the center of his little island.

  No bark under his hand.

  Alarmed, he took another step. Then another. Where…?

  Exerting his will, he resonated with the island—and finally felt it on the other side of the road, a dozen paces from where he stood.

  Sweating now, he hurried to the island and stepped up onto ground not too dissimilar from the land he’d just left. Getting a firm grip on the tree in case he became dizzy, he closed his eyes and thought, Sanctuary. Take me to Sanctuary.

  He heard water. When he opened his eyes, he saw the stream and the stepping stones that led from the island to the bank. He saw the guesthouse where he had a room that was always ready for him—a courtesy, since Sanctuary was one of Glorianna’s landscapes.

  Picking up his daypack and his large travel pack, Lee stepped off the island, crossed the stones, and headed for the guesthouse. He slipped up to his room quietly, glad he’d avoided Michael’s aunt Brighid as well as Yoshani, who acted as host and counselor to the people who, in need of peace or guidance, found their way to this part of Sanctuary.

  Glorianna also had a room here, connected to his by the shared bathroom. But she hadn’t left the Island in the Mist since she’d returned from that place.

  He shook his head, unwilling to think about that right now—especially when his skin felt clammy all of a sudden.

  A bath and some sleep. Later he’d go downstairs and get something to eat.

  As he ran water in the bathtub, he looked in the mirror over the sink. Tired green eyes looked back at him. His black hair had gotten long enough to look shaggy. He’d have to stop at a barbershop soon and get it cut. His skin was browned a bit from all the time he spent outdoors, but it wasn’t leathery or lined, so he didn’t look older than his almost thirty years. He wasn’t dangerously handsome like Sebastian, but women thought he was attractive, and that was good enough for him.

  This was the second time in two weeks that his island hadn’t been where he thought it should be, the second time he had felt a resistance when he tried to bring it to him. The island was attuned to him, so that shouldn’t happen—unless something was interfering with his connection to it.

  Glorianna? No. She knew how much he depended on being able to impose his island over other landscapes in order to tend all the bridges. She knew the value of having fresh water available and being able to camp out overnight without worrying about thieves or anyone else who might want to prey on a lone traveler. Glorianna knew these things. But what about Belladonna?

  It was anyone’s guess what Belladonna knew.

  It was anyone’s guess what Belladonna might do.

  He still loved his sister. He did. But he was tired of not having the things other men took for granted: a partner, a home. He was tired of being a traveling Bridge. He wanted to do something more with his life, wanted to be more.

  He didn’t know how to do any of those things without feeling like he had abandoned the people who needed him most—his mother, his sister, the rest of the family.

  Currents of power swirled around him once, twice, leaving him a little off balance.

  “Those are troubles for another day,” he sighed as he turned off the taps and stripped out of his dirty clothes. Settling into the water, he leaned back, closed his eyes, and tried to ignore the confusion filling his heart.

  They call themselves Tryad, children of the Triple Goddess. They crept into the city of Vision, pathetically hoping to gain a foothold here, but my wizards caught two of the creatures for my examination.

  A Tryad is three beings who inhabit a core body, which consists of the brain (but the mind is distinct to each), the internal organs, and bones. Height doesn’t change, and there is no significant difference in weight between the aspects, as they refer to themselves. However, there are sufficient differences in muscle and body shape to be noticeable, especially between the weakest and strongest of the three. Each has a distinct face, and features like the color of skin, eyes, and hair can vary widely. Each has its own personality, its own memories, although they can share an experience to some degree.

  One member of a Tryad has a brand on the left arm—a heart within a triangle. This allows them to identify others of their race, since they are never open about their presence in a city.

  This ability for only one of them to bear the proof of a physical change fascinates me, so I have conducted some tests. Violations like burns or cuts on one have no effect on the other two. Despite being part of the shared core, a broken bone, if it is a clean fracture, only hobbles the one on whom the injury was inflicted, although the other two experience weakness and pain in that limb and are severely limited in its use. A fever produced in one will weaken the other two to some degree, or they may suffer a minor version of the same illness. However, if a hand is amputated on one, that hand is lost to all three. Interestingly enough, removing the eyes from one of the aspects does not blind the other two. Neither does destroying the eardrums carry over to a loss of hearing in the other two aspects. On the other hand, the teeth and tongue appear to be part of the core, and if lost in one are lost in all.

  It took me some time to recall what I had learned during my training, but as I experimented with my specimens, I remembered the reports about this demon race.

  Dark Guides found these creatures generations ago, before the world was broken during the war between the Guides of the Heart and the Eater of the World. Some of the Dark Guides sowed their seed in females whose hearts already fed the Dark currents of the world, so that offspring would be born with an instinct for discord—and maybe even some portion of the wizards’ gift of persuasion.

  We helped them turn against their own kind. We helped them break their piece of the world away from the rest of Ephemera, and then salted their hearts with guilt and blame that soured their land, spreading those feelings like swift-growing weeds. Even after we abandoned them, our resonance in their hearts helped them crush their own hope, their own future. There is so much destruction a Dark Guide can accomplish when the hatred in one sibling is nurtured and disguised as love.

  Yes, we have seen these creatures before. We have used them to change the resonance of other landscapes into something darker. When a race is so different, it becomes easy to blame them when things begin to go wrong, as things will when wizards put some effort into reshaping a place.

  They call themselves Tryad. We call them scapegoats.

  —an entry in the Book of Dark Secrets

  Chapter 4

  Zhahar hurriedly cleaned her teeth, then wet a cloth and washed her face and under her arms—and sent a prayer to the Triple Goddess to help her stay downwind of anyone important.

  “Can’t be late,” she muttered as she grabbed underclothes out of drawers. “Not today.” She found a clean pair of trousers suitable for work, but the only short-sleeved tunic left in the closet was Sholeh’s. Fortunately, that shade of green favored her complexion and brown hair as well as her sister’s fairer skin and auburn hair.

  One of them would have to do some washing this evening—and it would probably end up being her, since Sholeh had to keep up with her studies. Maybe Zeela?

  She would have a better chance of teaching a pig how to fly.

  =I’ll wash the clothes tonight,= Zeela said.

  Startled by the offer, Zhahar almost missed a step as she rushed to the alcove that served as their kitchen. It was tempting to grab her daypack and run to catch the omnibus, but Sholeh tended to get shaky and disoriented if they didn’t break their fast in the morning and eat light meals throughout the day.

  *Sholeh?* Zhahar called as she stuffed a couple of dates into her mouth and slathered soft sweet cheese over a piece of flatbread.
*I had to wear your last clean tunic. I’ll try not to get it dirty, so you’ll be presentable for your class later.* When there was no answer, she stopped her hasty attempt to rush off to work. *Sholeh?*

  =Leave her be,= Zeela said.

  Zhahar’s hands began to shake. She put the flatbread on the counter. Zeela had that edge to her voice only when one of her sisters was hurt. *What happened?*

  =She was dismissed from the school.=

  *Why? She worked hard because she wanted this so much!*

  =They said she missed too many classes.=

  *But she did the work!*

  Bitterness filled Zeela’s voice. =She couldn’t play by the one-face rules and be where they wanted her to be when they wanted her to be there. So she can’t study at the school anymore.=

  *But we paid all that money.* Zhahar looked around. She and her sisters did their best to make it a home, but it didn’t change the truth. They lived in that shabby little room, eating cheap foods and wearing secondhand clothes to pay for Sholeh’s studies. *If they won’t let her study, will they give back the money?*

  =Is that all you care about? The money?=

  *No!* Zhahar snapped. *But we can’t afford to find another place for her to study unless we get it back!*

  ::Don’t fight. Please.:: Sholeh sounded broken, beaten. ::Zhahar, you have to get to work. We can’t afford to have you fail too.::

  =You didn’t fail!= Zeela shouted.

  ::Let me rest. I don’t want to be in view today.::

  Nothing to be done, especially because Sholeh was right: if they were going to stay in the city of Vision, one of them had to earn wages.

  Zhahar grabbed her daypack and rushed for the door. Then she went back, folded the flatbread and cheese, and wrapped it in a napkin. If she wasn’t too late, the new Asylum Keeper might not notice her absence, and she might have the few minutes she needed to finish her simple meal.