“You’re absolutely certain of this?” Mordowrgi muttered, his voice low. His face was turned away, watching the Brazilian countryside flick by through the train’s windows. He’d been silent for the first few hours of travel, apparently contemplating this simple question.

Simple it was, of that Sabriel had no doubt. She had no strong aversions about returning to the world of her birth and if the Alliance demanded it for a straight-forward mission, there was no question that she must do her duty. Mordowrgi’s hesitations were completely inexplicable, although not exactly surprising. She’d caught similar expressions on his face before when he glanced at her, his yellow eyes tinted with a sense of knowing melancholy entirely inappropriate for the circumstances.

Before answering, Sabriel closed her eyes for a moment. She remembered her youth on Shaman as clearly as if it had been yesterday. She remembered being forced from the labyrinth and into the jungle; she remembered the crystalline sky clouded over by thick smogs of magic; she remembered her mother, short of stature and fierce of face, her golden-brown eyes blazing in the heat of battle. There were many battles. Sabriel had been born into the war, a princess of the resistance against Mallos, her own father. She’d been there when Aura had been raised from the dead, when Shaman had split into two kingdoms. She remembered Mallos’ reign of terror, the whisper of his name in the place of monsters, the sacrifices made to claw back power from the vice-like grip he’d held over her world.

But all that had changed. Sabriel had been studying at the Alliance Academy when the earth-shattering news had broken here that the gods were at war with themselves on the faraway planet of Shaman. Mallos was not really Mallos, but Gwythr, the leader of the Council of Originals. The real Mallos, still Sabriel’s biological father, had been imprisoned beneath a palace for a thousand years. It was like a ridiculous fantasy tale. Months later, news reached Earth that the Shaman civil war was finally over. Gwythr was gone, gaoled on the planet Shyllipa. Aura was dead again, with more finality this time. Mallos flitted between Shaman and Earth, seemingly unaware that he had a long-lost daughter graduating as an agent of the Alliance right here in Brazil.

Sabriel sucked in her breath, leaning her head against the window. She remembered Shaman, and she remembered joining the Alliance. The hazy bit was what had happened in between. How she had ended up on Earth, the transition between Sabriel, daughter of Twinge, and Sabriel, agent of the Alliance, was blurred. Sometimes, when she caught that look in Mordowrgi’s eye, she wondered if it wasn’t so hazy for him. Mordowrgi was notably absent from Sabriel’s memories of Shaman; he had entered her life at some point in that muddled transition phase.

“The war is over.” She told him firmly, keeping her eyes on the window. “Shaman is safe for me now.”

Mordowrgi didn’t look like he entirely agreed, but he stayed silent for the remainder of the journey.

The train docked at Palmas, the nearest town to Base Four which had an Alliance office containing hop loops. Owing to the brutish nature of many of the Alliance members’ familiars, the train, owned by the organisation, docked in a special station right beneath the Alliance office. Sabriel swung her backpack up onto her shoulder, stepped off onto the platform with Mordowrgi and headed up the stairs into the building. She flashed her badge at the fairy in reception and headed straight for the equipment room, where guns were stashed alongside vials of poison, flash bombs and – of course – hop loops. Sabriel slipped one of the hop loops into her pocket and another over her wrist but then hesitated, her fingers hovering over the digital display. She glanced down at Mordowrgi, sat at her feet.

“Is there anything I need to know before I go back?” She asked him brusquely, quirking an eyebrow.

Mordowrgi studied her, the stripes on his forehead creased into a frown. Along with her familiar, Sabriel had gained many other interesting attributes in her transition phase. She had no recollections of possessing any watery abilities while on Shaman, and somehow in the transition her power over darkness had receded. Her eyes had shifted, gaining the ability to see underwater but losing the gift of night vision. Something in that hazy transition period had changed her into almost an entirely different person.

“Nothing.” Mordowrgi growled. “Let’s get this over with.”

Sabriel shrugged, keying in the coordinates on her wrist. The world shifted, white-wash walls fading into green forest. Not the rainforest, either – deciduous, from the shape of the leaves. Sabriel’s brown eyes narrowed slightly as she stood stock still for a moment, absorbing the new (or old) sounds and smells. The air was cooler, dryer. The birds sung softer songs and the rustling undergrowth sounded less ominous.

No magic smog, no weeping orphans, no battle cries. No war.

Somewhere behind her, a twig cracked. Sabriel ripped her pistol from its holster and spun around, pointing the barrel at a distinctly humanoid-shape lurking amongst the shrubbery.

“Identify yourself.” She demanded sharply.