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Don’t go,says the voice. And once more, Dawsyn recoils from the volume, clutching her ears. But it is more discernible now. It is not the whisper of the Dyvolsh infection. This voice is pitched. Female. The words curl lasciviously. Goadingly.

You have only just arrived.

The hawk’s beak does not move and yet it seems to Dawsyn that it is the creature that speaks to them, toys with them. Its great beady eyes glint menacingly, alight with predatory lust and something other… something far more human.

“Yerdos,” she utters aloud.

In the flesh.Her wings swoop forward once more and heat thrusts them all backward. Dawsyn brings her forearm up to shield her face.

And you are Moroz,Yerdos says now, her voice rebounding.Come to find me.

“Moroz?” Dawsyn murmurs, confused.

I feel the cold within you.She continues, the words growing louder, more vicious.You bring its creatures to do your bidding.

Dawsyn’s eyes dart to Ryon, then to Tasheem and Rivdan, who stare on in horror. She suddenly recalls Rivdan’s story.

“No,” Dawsyn says once more, shaking her head frantically, emphatically. Though even as she says it, the iskra within her wearily rallies in the presence of a familiar foe.

I smell it,Yerdos says.You carry its foul breath.

“I am not Moroz!” Dawsyn calls, though her voice is far from sturdy. She cannot seem to give it volume.

It takes many forms,Yerdos continues.The cold is alive and well. It takes and withers everywhere it goes and the Mother lets it. She lets it roam freely. And I have been cast into these depths.

With each word, the temperature rises. It scolds Dawsyn’s cheeks and burns her eyes. She can hardly keep them open.

The Mother lets Moroz choke the life from this mountain. She punishes me!

Yerdos’ voice remains otherworldly, but there is a snarl of human anguish tangled in it. A deep, dark bitterness.

Dawsyn hears frantic scuffling behind her and turns to see Abertha retreating hastily on her hands and knees.

The hawk shrieks, the sound reaching Dawsyn’s marrow, a seismic wave crashing through her. A terrible quake sounds above them – the slow splintering of stone – and rock rains down. Boulder-sized pieces crash onto the path, blocking them in.

There is no leaving now you are here,Yerdos says.

Abertha pants wildly. A rock the size of her torso lies before her, an inch from her nose. She scurries backward into Rivdan.

You’ve come so far to find me. To vanquish me. There is nowhere to run.

“We do not come to vanquish you!” Ryon shouts.

But the hawk releases a gust of smoke from its beak, and they all bury their faces from it, coughing into the dirt.

I will take what chance our Mother offers me,Yerdos says now, her intensity growing.I’ve long prayed to meet you in the battlefield again. Come, Moroz.

The enormous hawk rises. It extends its wing. From the tips of its feathers, fiery ropes unravel, whipping toward Dawsyn and the others.

“Watch out!” Dawsyn shouts as the ropes strike. She rolls to the side, crashing into Ryon. But no pain comes. The ropes do not scorch her. When she looks up, she sees they no longer burn red. They attach themselves to the precipice.

A great wooden bridge has appeared. It stretches across the enormous pit and the fire it is made of slowly extinguishes. It creeps inward, summoned backward toward the creature that wielded it.

A creature once a hawk, who now takes the form of a human.

A woman stands in the middle of the bridge, and she glows every bit as brightly as the hawk did. Her hands are alight with the fire she collects. It courses across the wooden struts of the bridge and back into her palms, until it is gone altogether.

I can wage this war in the form of the humans, if that is your preference, Moroz,Yerdos says. Her voice still shakes the very walls.Come.