A hand touched Istara's. She opened her eyes. Ahead, Surru's misty, ephemeral wall sparked and churned. Its cerulean light lapped over the ship's interior, gentle, like water. The ship stood silent and still. Waves of heated air slid from its wings, distorting the view. Urhi-Teshub looked down at her, his arms folded over his chest.

"Thoth wanted to speak with you before we go through," he said. He stepped back. Behind him, Sekhmet sat before the console, her fingers moving over its switches and buttons, preparing for their departure.

Thoth stood, set aside his notes onto the divan and cleared his throat. He glanced at her, then at the portal. He took a breath, began to speak, thought better of it and closed his mouth. Istara waited, uneasy. It wasn't like Thoth to hesitate.

"Lady Istara," he began, then fell silent. He sat down again. His hands moved back and forth over his thighs, rucking up the material of his kilt. He stopped, abrupt, and looked up at her. "There is a chance the portal might not take us where we intend to go."

Istara folded her eyebrows together. "I don't understand," she said. "I thought the portal leads straight through."

"It could," Thoth said. "However, when Arinna vanished during the wars of gods and men, the world split into an identical copy of itself. From that point, each world followed a different path and reached a different outcome, neither aware of the existence of the other." He sighed. "This means from the other side of the portal, the destination will always be Elati, but from this side, Surru's pathway is branched. It will either lead us out to the world where I and the other gods came from, where the cores are, or—" he paused to brush away a smudge of dust on his kilt, "—the one you, Sethi, Marduk, Urhi-Teshub, Ahmen, and Teshub originated from. A world my presence almost destroyed."

A sliver of hope touched Istara. "If we return to my world, might I recover my memories?"

Thoth poked at the pile of his notes. Unhappiness saturated him. "For the brief time we might be there, I suspect not."

Istara cut a look to the front of the ship. Sekhmet had leaned back in her seat. Her booted feet rested on the console, crossed at the ankles. In the reflection of the ship's window, the goddess of war eyed the streamers of light darting over the surface of the portal.

Istara turned back to Thoth. "Who was Baalat?"

Thoth pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes. "In my world, she was—" he cleared his throat, glanced up at her, "—the goddess of healing."

"And Horus?" Istara asked, her heart tight.

Hesitation. A flicker behind Thoth's eyes. "The god of war."

"How is that possible?" Istara asked. "Sethi and I are the gods of war and healing. I have never before heard of Baalat or Horus. Who am I if not the goddess of healing? You told me the pantheon was identical."

Thoth shot Urhi-Teshub a troubled look. Urhi-Teshub returned his glance, impassive. Sekhmet pulled her legs down from the console and glided around in her seat to face them, her eyes on Thoth, dark, intent.

"Yes," she said, soft. "If Istara is not the goddess of healing, who is she?"

"This is not the time for this," Thoth snapped. "Is it not enough to accept the Creator moves in mysterious ways? What matters is Istara is the goddess of healing, and Sethi is the god war. Horus and Baalat are gone, forever—from both worlds."

"From both worlds?" Istara repeated. She looked down at her hands. Tiny tendrils of her golden light darted along her fingers. "My memories of the Immortal Realm," she whispered, "and the destruction of my city." She looked up, fierce. "They are mine. I was there."

"This is not the time," Thoth repeated, severe. "We must focus on getting the cores—"

"No," Istara cut in. "Now is exactly the time."

"It is better to forget what came before and press forward, nothing good will come of asking these questions," Thoth said, his hands curling into fists, tension oozing from him. "The Creator took your memories for a reason. That should be enough for you."

"So you refuse to tell me."

Thoth nodded, terse, his narrow jaw hardening into a definite, stubborn line.

Istara glared at him, furious, trembling. "You began all this by saying the portal might not lead where you wanted. And you told me this, why?"

"I have no control over what happens once we are inside the portal," he answered, "but if we do emerge in the world you came from, both you and Sekhmet will be in grave danger."

"What kind of danger?"

He cut a look at the portal, then back to her. "Grave danger," he repeated, holding her eyes. "You must trust me in this matter. Urhi-Teshub will watch over you, and I will join Sekhmet, should I need to take control of the ship."

He strode to the front of the ship. The door slid closed, final, an impassable gulf. Silence surrounded Istara.

Urhi-Teshub lowered his bulk onto the seat opposite her. Thoth's neat pile of notes slid toward him. He caught them and set them out of the way, further down the divan. The ship rumbled, its nose easing toward the improbable doorway to another world. Her protector leaned forward, his elbows on his thighs, and folded his fingers together.

"I think Thoth is right," he said, gentle. "You should trust in the Creator's wisdom."

She opened her mouth to disagree, but the ship slid into the soft, watery light of the portal. A heartbeat later she fell with her protector into the silence of the void.

After the darkness and disconnection of her body from her mind—pale, gray light. By degrees, pure, clean, cerulean light washed over Istara. Her senses sharpened, raw with clarity. While still lost in the cocoon of light, the crunch of stone came from under the ship. Istara blinked. An image fleeted through her mind, sharp, visceral, of an enormous black ship, its pointed nose facing a portal, and two women, locked in a cage made of light set a little distance away. The dark ship moved toward the portal, the flat, black stones breaking under its wheels as it slid into the doorway embraced by tendrils of blue-white light. It shot through the churning wall and vanished, leaving the weeping women in their cage, shivering with cold, destined to die.

The light surrounding Sekhmet's ship faded. Istara looked at Urhi-Teshub, seeking answers. He leaned forward and eyed her, enigmatic, revealing nothing.

The ship's wings cleared the massive engraved ashlars of the portal and emerged onto a bleak, barren island, its surface clad in flat, black rocks. Dark, inky water lapped its uneven shoreline. Above, a roof of living rock glinted with the sparkle of frost. The ship slid out from the portal into an underground cavern bathed in blue-white light. Istara stood up, blinking, drinking in the sight of it, her senses resonating. Though she could not remember being here, it felt familiar. She had been here once before, she was certain of it. Something important had happened in this dark, hidden place—something connected to the black ship, the cage, and the two women trapped within it.

She clutched at her tendril of certainty as new fragments of images tumbled through her mind: a ragged, starving child huddling in the shadows beside a golden statue of herself; a brown puppy playing in a verdant garden, chasing peacocks; a woman dressed in finery fleeing a stone-walled city, running through a damp, dripping wood; a great, bloody battle, the eyes of the dead lit by the flames of a raging fire; two women hiding in a tent, one of them blue-eyed, a dagger lying on the ground between them; endless rows of wounded, dying soldiers lined up alongside blazing pits of fire, the skies bearing down on them, cold and cruel; a needle against flesh, its thin thread pulling muscle and skin back together; a journey through a great wood; a vile, filthy man primed to rape a woman, felled by a spear; a battle between two men in the blazing heat of the sun; a journey across a desert; a terrible earthquake; a stepped pyramid; a luxurious suite deep underground, Urhi-Teshub upon a divan, looking at a woman asleep on a bed, filled with longing.

She caught her breath and looked at her protector.

"You were there." She moved toward him. "In the suite under the stepped pyramid. There was a woman. You loved her."

Urhi-Teshub blinked. His lips parted. "I—"

The ship turned on itself, sharp. Istara staggered. It swung back around to face the portal. Tendrils of light slid from it to embrace the ship. The walls of the ship shimmered and the view of the cavern faded. From the front of the ship, Thoth's voice rang out, sharp, urgent, giving commands.

Istara sank onto the divan beside Urhi-Teshub. "Was she the woman in the cage?" She tilted her head toward the wall of the ship. "Out there? Is that where you lost her?"

Urhi-Teshub took a ragged breath as they slid back into the portal. She caught the glint of tears in his eyes. He nodded, tight. She took his hand and squeezed it. "I sense she is still with you, in spirit."

Urhi-Teshub choked and looked away. Darkness came again, but in Istara's heart—light. It was a beginning. Though they made no sense to her, the images had come to her for a reason. She needed to return to this place to learn more. Here was where her questions would be answered, where her lost memories would be found. And she would uncover them—with or without Thoth's help.