Chapter 77
The music, light of the moon
And dreams are my magical weapons.
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― Fernando Pessoa,
La hora del Diablo
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MIKHAIL
A great eagle sits on the horizon, waiting to swoop down upon its prey. A song calls to me. The song I heard the night I died. I crawl over the other bodies, step out of the tent and stare up at the Eternal Tree. The branches bow heavy with fruit made up of galaxies and stars. All around me, the universe sings with joy.
"Come," the eagle calls. "Come and find me?"
My heart feels lighter, for raptors are sacred to the Ubaid. I take to the sky to chase the great, golden bird, zigzagging back and forth like a drunk, chasing the eagle through the heavens.
"Where are you?" I call to Ninsianna. For when she was in Assur, the eagles were always there. But now the
