20

The Tribe of the Red Bear?" says Baseera. "You are from the northern steppe, if memory serves—beyond the Amber Veld?"

Baseera seems to relax. "I remember the Tribe of the Red Bear," she says, replacing her knife in its sheath. "Honorable people for the most part, as far as I can recall."

She considers you for a moment, then points up to the blanket of dark clouds that hang overhead. "Above the clouds is Domorvost, a realm of gods and heroes. Here in the spirit world, though, I have but one fate." She gestures to the black orbs of her eyes. "I was not always as you see me now, and soon nothing of Baseera will remain. I will fade away, becoming a nameless shade, a spirit who will wander this forest for eternity—at least, until I am captured and consumed by Zhan-Ukhel."

"Zhan-Ukhel," you say to Baseera. "He's here? How can that be? He's supposed to be fighting a battle against my own tribe."

"He is a sorcerer," explains Baseera. "Those like him who are blessed with an instinctive understanding of magic can walk between the worlds of the body and the spirit. It may be that you, too, possess this gift, though I confess I find it hard to believe. Perhaps the style of a tribesperson has changed since I was alive, but I can't even tell if you're a man or a woman, let alone one blessed with magical abilities."