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grass sparked to life, illuminating a circular area about five cubits in diameter. The threesome added more grass and also found some leggy bushes and even a dried-up log from a fallen palm tree. By the time the sun should have been overhead, they had built an impressive bonfire, and now they could see for about twenty cubits; yet the darkness was barely dented beyond that.
    Meanwhile, the Daasa seemed to have fully recovered from their initial discomfort, and they ran in and out of the firelight as if the entire thing were nothing but a wonderful game their masters had devised. Apparently, their superior senses of smell and hearing made it far easier to navigate in the darkness.
    The game took on new meaning. Soon the Daasa themselves were adding fuel to the fire, mostly in the form of driftwood. They also brought more clams and crabs, and even a few flopping fish.
    “What now?” Lucius said with a shrug. “Do we just stand here until this passes? Assuming it will pass.”
    As the firstborn spoke, one of the Daasa charged over with a long stick in its mouth. Nīsa grabbed the end of it and won a hard-fought game of tug-of-war with the charming creature. Then he wound grass around the end of the stick.
    “What now?” Nīsa said. “First we eat. Then we make more torches. After that we continue our march. This darkness might not be foul in all ways. If we can’t see, then we can’t be seen. Perhaps that might work to our advantage.”
    Bonny smiled, her crooked teeth glistening in the firelight. “All right, Nīsa, I admit it . . . you have won my heart. But Lucius is still my man and always will be.”
    Nīsa smiled back. “I mean no offense, but I prefer taller women.”
    All three of them laughed.
    Later, they sat by the fire and discussed the upcoming march. As long as they skirted the ocean, it would be relatively easy to stay together and not lose their sense of direction. Eventually, they would stumble upon the port—and the ships.
    “I’ll be the first to tell you that I don’t know a thing about sailing,” Lucius said. “How big of a ship will we need to hold all the Daasa? Is it something that the three of us can manage on our own?”
    “The three of us?” Bonny said to Lucius. “The two of us, you mean. You aren’t going to be much help.” Then she looked at Nīsa. “And I am taking your word that you know what you’re doing.”
    “I’ve sailed vessels on Ti-ratana and Keo, but never on the ocean,” Nīsa admitted. “Still, it comes naturally to me. I’ll be more of an asset than a liability.”
    Lucius grunted. “You didn’t answer my question, Captain Bonny. How big of a ship will we need? And what about a crew?”
    The smile left Bonny’s face. “I think we’ll need a mighty galleon—and at least a score of deck hands. Even that might not be enough, if we hit bad weather.”
    “A score?” Lucius said. “Where are we going to . . .” But instead of finishing his sentence, the firstborn suddenly bent over and seemed to gag.
    “Sweety, are you all right?” Bonny said, her voice at first amused but then concerned as the firstborn continued to cough. “Are you all right ?”
    Finally Lucius composed himself, and then he raised his face. In the firelight Nīsa could see tears on the firstborn’s cheeks.
    “He is gone . . .” Lucius murmured.
    “Huh?” Bonny said. “What’d you say? Who’s gone, sweety?”
    “ He is gone,” the firstborn repeated. “He . . . He ! Don’t you feel it? Invictus is dead.”

7
    THE OLD NIGHTMARE had ended, but a new one had risen in its place. Invictus was erased from the world, but Laylah still could not rest easy. The child in her belly—the one, by all rights, she should despise—had taken hold of her heart, and now he was all she could think about. Not even The Torgon , the love of her lives, seemed to hold precedence over this new being, which had chosen to take harbor from the storms of existence in the warmth of her