Moth's finger shook in the hot air. The thread he pointed at ran from his chest across the plain and into the black tower far away. It glowed the color of old blood.
"Who sent you?" I asked.
"I cannot say." He pressed a hand over his mouth, as if the words might escape on their own. "The deal forbids it."
I stepped closer. He stepped back. A small demon was afraid of a woman with no shoes, and I would have enjoyed that more if my knees had stopped trembling.
I looked at the knot where his thread met his heart. Tiny letters were stitched into it, glowing like sparks in a fire. I leaned in and read them aloud.
"Bring the carrier alive."
Moth went gray, which is hard for a gray demon.
"Alive," I said slowly. "So whoever owns you needs me breathing. That is useful to know."
"Emma, listen."
"No, you listen." I raised my wrist, where our gold thread pulsed against my skin. "Our deal says you stay beside me until the second gate. You cannot hand me over before then. Is that right?"
He stared at the thread. Then a dry laugh scraped out of him. "You read my own deal better than I wrote it."
"Why did he send you?"
Moth sat down on a rock and pulled his big coat tight around his small body. For a moment, he looked less like a trickster and more like a tired child.
"He took my eye," he said quietly. "Long ago, I lost a bet. He keeps it in a jar, and he says I can have it back when I bring him something worth more. I have searched for centuries. Then you fell out of the dark, covered in debts that did not belong to you." He looked at his hands. "I thought you were my miracle."
The wind tugged at my torn dress. I should have run. Any sensible person would have run.
But I was a bookkeeper. I knew that an enemy you can see is safer than a friend you cannot.
"Then here is my offer," I said. "Stay with me. I will help you pay your debt in a way that does not cost me my life."
"You have nothing to pay with."
"I have sight."
He blinked. "You would work for me?"
"I would work with you. There is a difference, and I will make sure it is written clearly."
Moth was silent for a long moment. When he finally stood, he bowed his head, and I could not tell whether it was respect or something sadder.
"I promised to stay until the second gate," he said. "I did not promise what I would do after."
"I noticed," I said. "So did I."
He laughed again, softer this time. "Come on, Ash. The first gate is close, and the Warden does not like to wait."
We walked for what felt like hours. The ground changed as we went. Cracked stone turned into rows of white bone laid like paving, and the hot wind grew heavy with a smell of rust. Far overhead, the chains rattled, and the shapes hanging from them turned slowly to watch us pass.
At last, a wall rose out of the red haze. It was built from thousands of fused ribs and jawbones, towering high enough to block half the ceiling. In the center stood a gate of black iron, locked with a hundred rusted chains.
In front of it sat the biggest creature I had ever seen.
The Warden looked like a toad that had swallowed a mountain. His skin hung in wet folds, and a ring of keys the size of church bells dangled from his belt. When he breathed, the whole ground trembled. One enormous yellow eye opened and rolled toward us.
"Toll," he croaked. His voice sounded like a barrel rolling down stairs. "One year of your life. Or one memory. You choose."
"Absolutely not," Moth whispered. "He takes the best ones. The first kiss, the first snow, the face of a mother."
My hands curled into fists. I had already lost my name. I would not hand over another piece of myself to a giant toad.
"Let me look at him," I murmured.
I stepped forward and let my eyes unfocus the way they had on the plain. At first I saw only gray mist. Then, slowly, threads appeared around the Warden's huge body. They were dull and stretched thin, but there were hundreds of them, tied around his belly, his arms, and his neck like fishing line on a trapped whale.
Every thread led to a tiny knot of light on the ground. I realized with a jolt that each knot was a small soul, a wandering ghost the Warden had cheated at the toll.
All those debts were due at once.
I looked closer and found the date stitched into the largest knot. It was not written in numbers, but in a feeling, and I understood it as clearly as a clock striking. The debts would come due at the next bell.
"Warden," I said, loud and calm. "How long since you last heard the bell of the second layer?"
The yellow eye narrowed. "Why ask?"
"Because it is about to ring." I pointed at his belly. "And when it does, every soul you ever cheated will claim what you owe them. I can see two hundred and eleven claims on you. Your skin will be the first thing they take."
The Warden's fat throat bulged. He shifted, and the ground shook, and for the first time I saw fear crawl across that huge face.
"Lies," he rumbled. "No one can see that."
"Then you will not mind if I list them." I held up one finger. "A ghost child who paid you in a lullaby and got nothing back. A dead sailor who gave you his wedding ring. A soldier who traded his last good memory, and you threw it into the pit."
The Warden jerked as if I had struck him.
"How do you know?" he whispered.
"Because I count for a living." I stepped closer, my heart racing. "I can reorganize your debts so they come due slowly, over a thousand years instead of one moment. You will survive. All I ask is that you open the gate for me and my friend."
Moth stared at me. I think his mouth was hanging open.
The Warden stood up, towering over us, and his shadow swallowed the whole road. His big hand shot out, fast as lightning, and grabbed for my head.
I did not even have time to scream.
Something small and fast slammed into his wrist. Moth had thrown himself at the giant's keys, hanging from the ring and yanking with all his weight. The huge ring swung, struck the Warden's knee, and the great toad howled and toppled sideways, shaking the earth.
"Now, Ash!" Moth shouted from the dust.
I rushed forward and slapped my palm against the nearest thread. Cold wire burned my skin. I pulled it, twisted it, and tied it into a new loop, then did the same to the next, and the next, my fingers flying faster than they ever had over any ledger.
One by one, the debts slid apart and spread out into long, slow curves, stretching into a future the Warden could survive.
When I finished, my arms were shaking and my breath came in gasps. The giant lay on his back, staring at his own body in awe. The threads no longer strangled him. They hung loose and quiet, like the strings of a harp.
"I am not going to die," he said hoarsely.
"I know," I told him. "Open the gate."
The Warden rolled over with a groan. One by one, he unlocked the hundred chains. They fell with a crash that echoed across the plain. The black iron gate swung open, and a rush of cold air poured through, smelling of salt and old rain.
Beyond it stretched a new world. A sea of dark water lay under a sky with a pale moon made of thousands of tiny watching eyes.
Moth let out a low whistle. "You just bought a gate with an argument."
"I bought it with arithmetic," I said, wiping sweat from my forehead.
We stepped through together. The gate boomed shut behind us. For the first time since I fell, I let myself smile.
Then something black dropped from the sky and landed on a post beside me. It was a raven, as large as a dog, with eyes like polished gold. It tilted its head and looked straight at Moth.
When it spoke, its voice was deep, smooth, and terribly calm, and I felt Moth's whole body freeze beside me.
"You have found her," the raven said. "Good. Now bring her to me before she learns what she is."