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victory of all who truly believe. We offer this choice freely, and we ask that you make it freely. Which will you choose, my friends? Will you prefer the path of the despoilers, the path that leads to your own and your children’s destruction? Or will you choose the path of salvation, the path that leads to life and joy everlasting?”
    With this final word, he stooped to clutch the staff that lay at his feet. When he rose I tensed, fearing what he might do. But he merely walked through the crowd, lowering the stick to the shoulder of each of his followers, who closed their eyes and smiled as if they’d received a blessing. Men, women, and children submitted to this ritual, all except Archangel, who stood silently outside the circle, arms crossed. When the ten-minute long ceremony concluded, Asunder returned the staff to his side and his followers stood, the women moving off to their stations with the children of our colony and theirs, the warriors remaining in a circle by the throne. Then, to my surprise, one of the warriors entered the circle and began to dance.
    He gyrated in a stiff, awkward way, with bent knees and bobbing torso and stamping feet, his whole body turning in a tight, slow circle. The other warriors hummed wordlesslyas their fellow danced, one of them pounding out a rhythm on the cavern floor with his palms. Asunder returned to his throne and watched, a critical look on his face as if he was scrutinizing the performance. The dancer’s body glistened with sweat, his flesh seeming encrusted with tiny jewels as the droplets reflected the cavern’s gem-fire. All at once he stopped, and the drummer stopped too, only the humming continuing at a lowered volume.
    The dancer threw his head back and shouted words in their tongue. The others responded with an unfamiliar sound when he paused for breath. I turned to Nessa. “Are we supposed to watch—?”
    â€œShh,” she said. “I’m trying to listen.”
    â€œYou understand what they’re saying?” It seemed I’d never stop being surprised by what was going on behind her sleepy green eyes.
    â€œNot really,” she said. “I picked up a few words. Like tivah —that’s ‘people,’ but I think it’s also ‘soul.’ As in Nidach bar Tivah , Scavenger of Souls. And they kept saying shashi for the torches, so I assume that’s ‘fire,’ or maybe ‘light.’ Bracha is ‘water’ or ‘drink.’ They said it when they passed around the pitcher. So shashi tivah bracha  . . . The fire drank his soul? Or maybe his soul was washed clean by fire? I think that’s what he means.”
    â€œWhat are the others saying?”
    â€œNo idea,” she said. “It might just be a sound, not a word. And the rest of it is gibberish to me.” She squeezed hereyes tight in concentration. “ Nidach asa minach  . . . I have no idea what that means.”
    â€œHe says the Scavenger of Souls awaits,” a voice rumbled by my ear. I jumped and found Archangel hovering over us. “The Scavenger waits to see if any will refuse to cleanse his soul with purifying fire. Nidach asa minach . The Scavenger awaits.”
    â€œWhat happens to those who refuse?” I said.
    He shrugged his massive shoulders. “The Scavenger awaits those who resist us. He is tireless and all powerful. Against him there is no resistance.”
    Nessa jumped in. “Who is he?”
    Another shrug. “The Scavenger wards the faithful, and does not suffer the sons of the despoilers to raise their hands against us. He is the one who sits in judgment, the watcher at the world’s end.”
    I tried a new tack. “Have you ever . . . lost anyone to the Scavenger of Souls?”
    He didn’t answer at first. For a moment I thought I’d hit a nerve, as I saw a roiling in his almost-black eyes like currents beneath still water. But the