The fire did not scare Syth. The other acolytes had come to their Waste Walk with fear and excitement--emotions that set them shivering with anticipation. Syth approached it as her funeral, though none of the priestesses knew that.
       "You are to stay where you wake," High Priestess Arthra said, leaning over Syth where she lay on the pyre. The old woman's face resembled one of the topographical maps in the Sisterhood's library, all lines and bumps, and Syth fought the urge to trace her fingers over it.
       "When you reach the Wastes, you are to stay where you are until we call you home. Our Gray Lady has not yet summoned you to walk beyond the Wastes to the dreaming world. Do not go wandering."
       "Yes, High Priestess," Syth lied, keeping her voice steady.
       High Priestess Arthra watched her a moment longer, and Syth tried not to flinch beneath her gaze. The old woman's eyes made Syth want to confess that she had no intention of returning from the Wastes. But she managed to keep the words locked behind her lips long enough for the High Priestess to turn away.
       The torch touched the pyre, and the kindling caught almost immediately. Syth tried to lay still as the flames licked up her limbs, as she felt her hair catch and burn back towards her skull. The intensity of the pain shocked her, the noxious scent making her gag, and panic tried to claw its way out of her. She fought it back as she'd been taught. She'd done most of this before, but the Waste Walk was the last threshold, the Sisterhood's final test. Yet finally, as the fire scorched its way down her throat, Syth screamed.

       She'd known how the Wastes would look, but Syth was still surprised when she woke in them. The mists of the Gray Lady's realm billowed around her as she sat up, hands digging into the sandy ground.
       "Hello?"
       There was no answer. Syth stood, the mists curling around her body. She wore no clothes; nothing from the waking world could pass through the fire save the Gray Sisters. Taking a deep breath, Syth lowered her hands into the undulating mists and drew them around her body, shuddering from the chill. The robe she fashioned was crude--nothing like the flowing, star-studded cloak that Qyla, the Gray Lady, wore in her devotionals--but it would suffice. Feeling more confident, Syth closed her eyes and listened.
       She heard it, then. The steady drip, drip, drip of water. She opened her eyes, feeling a twinge of regret as she peered off into the mists. No, she would not be called home. The High Priestess would be disappointed in her, but that didn't matter now. Ari was waiting somewhere out there in the Wastes, and Syth meant to find her.
       Letting the sound guide her, Syth set off through the mists.

       "What is it like? The Waste Walk?" Minerva's hushed voice cut through the dark, silent dormitories of the Gray Sisterhood. The acolytes--twelve in all--huddled around Yevana's bed. Yevana was the oldest of them and the first to take the Waste Walk. Earlier that day, Syth had seen the priestesses bring Yevana back to the dormitory. She had been sitting on the windowsill when they'd entered, wheeling Yevana in a wooden chair that squeaked with every motion. She remembered the girl's drawn face, her distant eyes. A shiver had run up her spine, though she couldn't quite say why. Now, as she crouched with the other girls around Yevana's reclined form, she tried to rid herself of her disquiet.
       "It's strange," Yevana said, her voice the brush of a night breeze. "You walk through the fire into a quiet place, swathed in grey. It is very cold."
       "Did you speak with the dead?" one of the younger girls asked.
       "Not this time. If our Gray Lady calls me again, perhaps I will. The Waste Walk is to prove you can pass from the waking world to the Wastes and back."
       Syth examined Yevana's face, reading the lines there, the shiny newness of her skin that meant she'd passed through Qyla's fire. She realized at last what had unsettled her when Yevana had returned. The older girl looked grayer than when she'd left for her Waste Walk, her eyes sunken into her skull, her normally glossy black hair dull. She looked, Syth thought, like a corpse walking.
       Syth slid away from the bed, arms wrapping around herself. She would take the Waste Walk. She had to if she was to find Ari. But there was no shuddering anticipation in her at the thought, no joy at serving the goddess. Only a dull ache without a remedy, a pain she could not share with any of the other acolytes.
       Minerva went for her own Waste Walk a scant six months later, her body taut with nervous excitement. Unlike Yevana, however, Minerva did not return. That was the way of it. Sometimes you walked the Wastes back to the light, and sometimes they swallowed you whole.

       Syth didn't know in what direction she walked. She'd heard the older priestesses say that you could tell where you were by the feel of the ground, the way the mists coiled, and she idly wondered if anyone had tried to map the Wastes. To her, the gray world seemed unchanging. She had to rely upon hearing alone, letting the steady drip of water draw her on.
       Slowly, reluctantly, the mists drew away before her, and Syth came at last to Qyla's Spring, the water bubbling up from the gray landscape. It formed a pool, glinting and silver. She knelt beside it, examining the liquid. Her own face stared back, her large, dark eyes serious in the water.
       "She has come a long way from where she started," a voice murmured, and Syth jumped back, nearly tripping.
       A fox sat across the pool, head cocked to one side. He was white from ears to tail, the only hint of color his black eyes and nose. He grinned at her.
       "She is lost, is she not?"
       Syth swallowed her sudden fear. More than the dead dwelt in the Wastes; gentle spirits, yes, but also things with scales and mouths full of teeth, malevolent ghosts who longed for the warmth of the waking world. She didn't know into which category this creature fell.
       "I am not lost," she said, drawing herself up haughtily.
       "But we have not seen her before, in her gray robe," the fox observed, licking his paw. "We think it is her first time walking in the mists, yes?"
       "What does it matter?"
       "It does not matter to us," the fox replied with something that looked like a shrug. "But she should be careful if her walk will take her much further. She wanders away from where the Gray Sisters can find her again. Wander too far, and the mists will have her."
       "I am well-versed in the mists. I can walk them as well as you."
       The fox stopped his grooming and peered across the pool. He smiled at her.
       "Not as well as us."
       With a final tilt of his head, the fox vanished.
       Syth unclenched her hands, which had become balled fists at her sides. "It's nothing," she muttered. "Just an errant spirit. That's all."
       Turning back to the pool, she walked around to where it flowed off, a silver ribbon. Stepping lightly, she followed it deeper into the Wastes.

       "Which Sisterhood do you think you'll join at Se'en Nights?"
       Syth turned from the geography book she'd been covertly reading towards her sister's voice. Ariana stared past her in their shared bed, her face illuminated by the twin spheres of Aros and Petros, the two brother moons glowing brightly in the sky.
       "Ari, you should be asleep."
       "So should you."
       Syth rolled her eyes. "I'm not one of Iren's chosen. I won't be expected to present myself in front of the council tomorrow."
       Ariana stuck out her tongue at the moons as though they'd said something rude. "I don't want to be paraded in front of any stuffy council." Her hand reached up, rubbing the red flower mark on her forehead. It stood out starkly even in the half-light of the moons. Syth swallowed down the envy that tried to crawl up her throat. Though they'd been born only minutes apart, her sister had been chosen by the God of gods as one of His speakers in the waking world.
       Syth had not.
       Ariana's green eyes flicked to meet Syth's, as though she'd heard the thoughts her twin sought to hide.
       "Which Sisterhood will you join?"
       "I have months to decide yet," Syth replied evasively. In truth, she didn't think she would join any of them. She thought that she might leave Omene altogether. Because it didn't matter which Sisterhood she joined: she would never be worth as much as her blessed sister. She and Ariana would both be of age at the next Se'en Nights celebration. Then, Ariana, her sister, her other half would be swallowed up by Iren's temple. She would glimpse Ari at ceremonies, clothed in flowing golds and greens, standing high above her in Omene's central spire. She didn't think she could bear it.
       "You should leave, Syth, if that's what you want."
       Syth flinched as her sister's hand came to rest on her shoulder.
       "You don't have to stay for me."
       Syth swallowed, shifting away from that gentle hand. "It's late, Ari," she said, slipping her book back beneath her pillow. "Let's get some sleep, all right?"
       Her sister's grave face studied her own, eyes luminous. Syth never forgot that look, the seriousness that cut through her. Ariana had never lost that expression. Even at the very end of her illness, when her sister balanced between the waking world and the Wastes, her twin had always been able to see right through her.

       Syth had been walking for what felt like hours, eyes trained on that silver ribbon. Her feet ached, and her head hung heavy. Perhaps, she thought, she could lie down? Rest for just a moment or two? Her eyelids drifted downward, the world growing dark and hazy, and then she started awake again. Her breath caught in her throat.
       The silver stream had vanished.
       Syth paused, glancing around. Had she turned without realizing it? She took a few more experimental steps before spinning in a full circle. Wrapping her shaking hands in the diaphanous robe, she breathed deeply. Qyla's stream had to be here somewhere. In all her research, nothing had mentioned the stream vanishing entirely. She would just have to listen again.
       She shut her eyes, focusing on her breathing and searching for the raspy whisper of the stream slipping over rocks.
       Syth.
       Syth jumped, sending mist swirling out from the hem of her robe. "Who's there?"
       A trill of laughter echoed from somewhere in the haze. She gritted her teeth. If it was that damned fox again, she would kick the thing all the way to Qyla's Halls.
       "Show yourself!" Syth demanded. "I am a daughter of the Gray Lady. I command that you show yourself!"
       A flash of green in the fog, there and gone in a second. Syth stepped towards it, mist swirling away from her feet. "Who are you?"
       Syth. Dark-eyed daughter.
       The mist enveloped her, its damp hands running cold fingers through her hair. Syth took another step, glimpsing the faint outline of a green robe, bright in the undulating sea of gray. She squinted, trying to gaze through the curtains that clouded this place.
       "Who are you?"
       The mists cleared, and Syth froze. Before her, wearing the flowing green robe of Iren's chosen, was her sister. Ariana's dark hair coiled around her head, and her dusky eyes glinted in the mists.
       "Sister?"
       The figure smiled, and Syth realized her mistake. When the creature spoke, its mouth moved just out of sync with its words. Syth. Less-than-loved. You wanted me to die, didn't you?
       Syth stepped backwards. "What are you?"
       I am you, dark-eyed daughter, the creature replied. I am what you wished to be. You killed me to take my place.
       "No, I didn't!" Syth cried, her voice echoing. She took another, unsteady step backwards. Her foot caught on the hem of her robe, and she fell. The mist curled out from her like wings. The thing glided towards her, green robe billowing.
       Why did you live when I died? I, who was God-touched. I, who was to be great.
       The ground beneath Syth shifted, and what had been solid earth turned to sucking mud. Her hands began to sink, and she shrieked, straining to pull free. She tried to recall anything from her research to guide her, but nothing came.
       You are alone here, sister-slayer. Alone. Isn't that what you wanted?
       "Help!" Syth screamed, her voice cutting through the mists as the thing that was not her sister towered over her, eyes glinting.
       From out of the fog came a shrill yowling. Syth started as a white shape darted into view, pouncing upon the creature's green robe and springing towards its face. The little white fox set upon the creature with claws and fangs, growling and yipping. Syth struggled backwards, drawing her hands and feet out of the muck and onto solid land. The creature that wore her sister's face screamed, frantically swatting at the fox, but in vain. The fox managed to squirm around to the back of the creature's neck, biting down hard. At once, the figure went still. Then, with shocking speed, it dissolved, dissipating like rain clouds. The fox sprang lightly to the ground, licking his paw as though nothing had happened.
       From her seat, Syth stared at her savior. He glanced up from his work, black eyes amused.
       "We warned her not to stray into the mists. She does not listen very well."
       Syth swallowed against the dryness in her throat. "Th-thank you."
       The fox cocked his head. "Where does she think to go, following Qyla's stream?"
       Syth struggled to her feet. She glanced over her shoulder. Every way she turned, the mists were the same. She was entirely lost.
       The little fox sat silent as she looked around, waiting patiently for an answer. At last, Syth turned back to him.
       "I seek Qyla's Halls."
       "The Halls of the Dead? What does she want with those? The living do not pass there."
       "They do. Sometimes."
       The fox's tail twitched. "She intends to make a trade."
       Syth nodded, too choked for words. The green-robed version of Ariana glinted in her mind's eye, and she shivered with hatred--of it, or of herself, she did not know.
       "We know how to find Qyla's Halls," the little white fox said. "We could show her. But she must be certain she wants this."
       Taking a steadying breath, Syth balled her hands until her nails sliced into her palms. The sting brought her back to herself, and she nodded once more. "I'm certain."
       The fox sighed, tail swishing from side to side. "Very well, little gray sister. We can take her there. But she must follow close, and she must not listen if she hears the voices of the lost whispering again."
       Syth suppressed a shudder and nodded. She didn't think she needed any reminder. The sensation of the mud sucking her down, down, down, and the empty look in that creature's eyes would not leave her anytime soon.
       With a flick of his bushy tail, the fox turned back into the mists. Syth followed close behind.
       The Wastes seemed to grow darker as they walked. Syth kept her eyes carefully trained on the fox's tail, waving like a white flag in the gray dimness.
       The fox glanced back at her, nose twitching. "Who does she seek?"
       Syth pressed her lips into a thin line. "You'll not trick the name out of me."
       The fox chuckled. "She's done her research, then."
       "She has."
       "Then why is she here?"
       "Because this is something I must do."
       The fox halted, turning to face her. The mists around them were nearly black now.
       "She knows, then? She knows that both the waking and dreaming worlds will be lost to her? The sun, the moons, the grassy earth. All will be gone. All will be gray, gray, gray. She cannot depart the Wastes again if she does this."
       Syth turned away. Of course, she knew. She had thought of it every day for nearly ten years. What had at first been a desperate choice had become something more--a calling, an obsession. It had become everything. She had been born as nothing. It seemed fitting that she would return to it.
       "Does she know?" the fox prodded.
       "Yes."
       "But she does not understand. She thinks what she does is wise, but what she does is foolish."
       "And what do you know of it?" Syth snapped. "Have you ever walked in the waking world? Do you know what it is to be thought a murderer? Have you been hated for what you could not be? You are nothing but a spirit, little fox. You know nothing of pain."
       The fox shook his head. "She does not know what she gives up. She will miss the pain when it is gone, for there will be nothing for her, not the waking or the dreaming worlds. Iren's wheel does not spin for those who give themselves up."
       "Then let the wheel stop for me," Syth hissed.
       "She does not--"
       "Enough." A voice boomed out of the black mists around them, and Syth jumped. She cast her eyes around, but all remained dark.
       "Let her come forward."
       The little white fox sighed, bowing his head and turning away. The black fog dissipated, revealing a gigantic cavern. Ebony pillars supported a roof swirling with too many carvings to count. And at the far end of the hall sat a towering woman.
       Qyla, the Gray Lady, regarded Syth dispassionately with stormy eyes. Her skin was black as a moonless night, her gray gown flecked with stars. Heavy, dark braids fell around her shoulders like a shroud, glimmering with strands of silver in the dim light. One hand rested upon her throne while the other held a glinting scythe.
       Syth gasped, pressing her hands to her mouth before dropping to her knees and lowering her eyes.
       "Not many from the Gray Sisterhood have been this far, little gray sister," Qyla said, her voice rumbling through the stone. "Nor strayed so far from the waking world. Well? Speak!"
       Syth pressed her shaking hands to the earth. "Gray Lady, I honor you."
       "As do all, in time. I know you come here seeking one who has gone before. But do you know the price?"
       "I do."
       "And are you willing to pay it, despite my messenger's advice?" Qyla asked, nodding to the little fox who sat some way off, dark eyes fixed on Syth.
       Syth kept her own eyes on the ground. "I am."
       "Very well, little sister. Speak the name."
       Syth swallowed against the dryness in her throat. She'd been preparing for this moment for ten years, and she would not fail now.
       "Ariana Pellethier."

       Ariana had always been the better of the two of them. Swifter, funnier, smarter. It was no wonder that the Eight Waters of Omene had risen and blessed her. Ariana was born with Iren's mark upon her brow. She would never take vows to one of the Sisterhoods. She would go to the spire, sit on the council, and mete out judgement. She was chosen. Syth, who was born only a few minutes after, was not.
       She did not think her parents had hated her, not at first. But she was often forgotten, left out of introductions at the many parties her parents threw for Ariana, their blessed child. Ariana, though, never forgot. She dragged her younger twin with her everywhere, making sure that Syth was not left behind. And Syth knew she would follow her beautiful, chosen sister anywhere, even into death.
       But death does not consider the silent promises of sisters.
       When Red Lung swept through Omene, Ariana was cloistered away, protected from the miasma of the city, the smoke from the plague fires. That did not save her.
       Healers were called, and for days, Syth barely saw her twin, locked away in a separate bedroom, doctors rushing in and out all day. That didn't stop her from sneaking into the sickroom during the wee hours of the morning, from sliding under the covers to feel Ariana's clammy skin and pushing the damp hair away from her brow.
       "You must get better, Ari," she would whisper. "You must."
       Most nights, Ariana said nothing. But that night, the last night, she opened her eyes and met Syth's own.
       "Syth," she said softly. "I don't think you can follow me anymore."
       "I will."
       Ariana shook her head. "Do not. I will wait in the mists until your time."
       Syth shuddered, the thought of those mists sending revulsion shooting through her. She did not wish to walk the Wastes to reach the dreaming world, not without Ari beside her.
       Ariana reached out and took her sister's hand. "Stay with me tonight?"
       Syth, too choked to speak, nodded.
       She'd woken to her mother screaming, to the feeling of her sister's cold hand being ripped from her own as her parents wailed over Ariana's corpse. She remembered being dragged, shrieking, from the sick room, locked in her bedroom as her parents mourned the loss of their favorite child. She remembered watching the procession from her high window as Iren's chosen was taken to His hearth fires to be burned to holy ashes. And she remembered the cold looks upon her parents' faces when they returned as if she had been the one to kill her sister.

       Qyla's chambers were silent after Syth's declaration. The goddess nodded slowly and raised her scythe, tapping it on the floor. The sound reverberated, deep and shuddering, and from behind her throne stepped a figure draped all in white. Syth recognized her at once, the serious expression, the slight tilt of the head. Syth's hand flew to her throat. She shook with great sobs as her sister crossed Qyla's throne room and knelt before her. Ariana's face was just the same as it had been all those years ago, and she smiled as she opened her arms to Syth.
       "It is good to see you, sister."
       Sobbing, Syth threw herself down into her twin's arms. She had done it. She had done it, and here was Ariana, cold but solid, here, here, here. Syth clung to her as though she could mold them together, brand her sibling into her flesh so she might never lose her again. Ariana wrapped her own arms around Syth's shoulders, twining around her like honeysuckle.
       The sound of Qyla's scythe hitting the ground echoed through the chamber, and Ariana pulled back from Syth. She gave her a reassuring smile, offering her a hand as they both stood. Syth cast her eyes downward, training them on the ground before Qyla's feet. She watched her twin from the corner of her eye as Ariana faced the goddess before them.
       "Ariana Pellethier," Qyla rumbled, "you may return to the waking world. Syth Pellethier has offered to take your place."
       Ariana smiled serenely. "My Gray Lady, I refuse."
       Syth's breath caught in her throat, and she whipped towards her sister. "Ari, no!"
       Ariana did not meet her gaze, her eyes fixed on the goddess. Qyla's mouth tightened. "Think carefully. Though you are one of Iren's chosen, this is not an offer that will be made again. Do you still refuse?"
       "Please, Ari," Syth begged, gripping her sister's hands. "Please. I joined the Gray Sisterhood; I came all this way for you. Please!"
       Ariana turned towards her, grasping her hands just as fiercely. "My brave, brave Syth," she whispered. "You are the stronger of the two of us, you know."
       Syth shook her head, hot tears welling in her eyes.
       Ariana tilted her chin up, forcing their eyes to meet. "You are, Syth. You gave up everything you wanted for me. But don't you see? I want none of that. This," she said, sweeping her arm to the ebony hall, the goddess seated impassively behind her, "has been my home for ten years. I could not return to the waking world now."
       "But what about what I want?" Syth choked. "You're taking this choice away from me!"
       "No," Ariana said, enfolding her sister in her arms again and whispering in her ear. "No, I'm giving it back to you. Your life is not worth more than mine, sister. It never was, no matter what those preachy councilmen said. And you do not want this. I know you, you see. Return to the waking world. Leave the gray-draped halls of the Sisterhood. Go out into the sun. Be free."
       She stepped back, placing her hands lightly on Syth's shoulders. In her eyes, Syth saw that same serious look Ari had so often given her in life. "You love me enough to come here. And I love you enough to send you back."
       "You promised to wait for me."
       "And I have. And I shall. But I can wait a little longer. Go back. And when you have lived a good life with many, many years behind you, come and find me here so we may pass into the dreaming world together. My soul will keep."
       Ariana embraced her sister once more. Syth gripped her, tears falling hot and fierce down her face. She wanted to argue with Ari, but even after ten years of separation, she knew her sister too well to think she could move her. And inside, she felt something she had not expected to find there. A deep, unfettered well of relief.
       With a final squeeze, Ariana released her. Then, to Syth's surprise, her twin turned towards the little white fox, who trotted towards them at her look.
       "Little messenger," she said, "thank you for guiding my sister here."
       The fox dipped his head. "We are here to guide the lost, even those who don't believe they need us."
       "Will you guide her back?"
       The fox cocked his head. "How far would she have us go?"
       Ariana smiled, reaching down and scratching the fox between his twitching ears. "All the way."

       No one was more surprised than Syth to awaken to a soft, solid warmth curled at her feet. She'd woken in the infirmary, a solitary priestess sitting some distance away and warily eyeing the little white fox who slept at the end of her bed. At her movement, he'd opened his dark eyes, peering at her with a curious humor.
       "Welcome back," he'd murmured.
       Syth had tried to smile. There was a pain to waking that she had not expected. Soreness in her limbs, of course. But there was an ache in her chest that reminded her of the first spring thaw, water dripping off the temple's roof and into the earth. She buried her head in her hands and sobbed, great heaving tears that she hadn't cried in the waking world since her sister's death. The little white fox pawed up the covers to her, and she encircled him with her arms, sobbing into his brilliant fur. He'd said nothing. He hadn't needed to.
       The pair left only a few days later, and no one tried to stop them. After all, no one had ever returned from the Wastes with a fox trailing after them. And none of the priestesses were keen on figuring out what, exactly, the fox was.
       Now, Syth sat in an alcove of rock formed by the Hulnuir mountains at her back. She and the fox had trekked up the main road as it curved into the peaks. Below, Omene sat in a green valley, its spire glittering in the late afternoon sun. It looked so much smaller from up here. She pulled out a map she'd pilfered from the Temple library, tracing her fingers over the faded ink. There were so many places beyond Omene that she'd only seen in pictures. Cities that glittered like jewels on cliffs by the sea, mountains made of colored glass, and much, much more. She would tell Ariana about them one day. She'd have to remember it all.
       "Where will she go?"
       She glanced at the fox, who sat primly beside her.
       "Truthfully, I don't know. There's a lot to see."
       "Will she see all of it?"
       "She'll try," Syth replied. "And will you keep following me, little messenger?"
       The fox gave a long stretch, eyeing the map. "We have lived for a long time in gray. We would like to see more colors than that."
       Syth smiled at the evasive answer, giving her companion a small scratch between the ears. "Well then, little messenger, where would you like to go?"
       "She is making us decide?"
       "She is."
       The fox chuckled. "Very well. Let us go east."
       "East? Why east?"
       The fox curled up beside her. "Because," he replied, "she has had enough of darkness. It is time now for light."