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womb.
    Laylah knew it was a boy, could sense it with certainty. She also knew that he had suffered some level of physical harm. Her fetus had died before her own body, and so the amulet that had preserved her flesh had fallen short of preserving his. How severe the damage was yet to be determined. Perhaps her magic, combined with the miraculous healing powers of Death Energy, would prove enough to birth a healthy child. The boy was half Invictus, after all, which would make him strong. But strong enough?
    Since Torg had rescued her on the peak of Catu by using the magical amulet to preserve her flesh during her brief death, Laylah had healed physically. But she had never recovered emotionally. Instead, her thoughts were wild and chaotic, and she felt no joy when by all rights she should have been celebrating. She and Torg were finally freed from the specter of Invictus. Why shouldn’t she be happy? She could not think clearly enough to even attempt to come up with an answer.
    Now she and Torg were again being flown through the darkness on the broad back of Sakuna, the giant mountain eagle that was one of Jord’s many incarnations. Only this time, instead of flying northward toward Catu, Laylah assumed they were flying southward on a return trip to somewhere either Jord or Torg had chosen. How cold the air was, yet how warm the flesh of Sakuna beneath the fluffy feathers. Laylah nestled the side of her face against the eagle’s back. Torg lay beside her, stroking and cooing, but she took little pleasure in his touch. The wizard was the creator of the black cloud that had destroyed her brother, but in turn he also was the cause of her unborn child’s distress. Could she forgive him? Even while asking herself this question, a part of her knew that it was irrational to even think such a thing.
    Laylah slept for an indeterminable length of time. When she finally awakened, the exposed side of her face felt frostbitten. She rolled over and sat up, nearly dislodging herself from Sakuna’s back. Torg grabbed her by the arm and held her tight. A part of her welcomed his touch, but another part recoiled. Would she ever love him in the same way again? If anyone had asked her then, she might have said no.
    Laylah had no idea where they were going, but she could sense that they had traveled a long way and that Sakuna was weakening. The darkness was utterly relentless and all-encompassing. Not even Obhasa warmed the chill in her heart. She was blind to anything but the flickering orb of life in her womb. When the eagle finally landed on hard, cold ground, Laylah lost consciousness.
    She woke again, this time inside a hut. A fire burned friskily in the hearth, providing warmth and light. She lay on a deerskin blanket strewn over a bed of straw, and when she sat up she found that she was alone. There was a stale odor in the air, and she wondered if it was coming from her, knowing full well that it had been long since she had bathed. But when she sniffed the skin of her arm, it smelled sweet. Torg must have cleansed her with his magic while she slept. The mildly unpleasant scent came instead from her surroundings—the very air itself.
    Laylah was dizzy, weak, and a little nauseated, and at first it was difficult to stand. But then she saw Obhasa leaning against the wall near the door, and when she staggered over and grasped the sturdy shaft, blue energy blazed from the ivory and warmed the palm of her hand. Feeling steadier, Laylah opened the door and peered outside at a wall of black tar. Air as cold as the bitterest winter slapped her in the face.
    “Torg?” she said in a whisper. “Torg?” she repeated, just a little louder. And then: “Torg!”
    She became convinced that he had deserted her. And why not? She deserved it for how rude she had become. So when the wizard suddenly emerged from the darkness, she was caught by surprise and screamed as loud as she ever had in her life. Torg took Obhasa from her and leaned the staff