“Stop, you idiots!” Jomo shouts. “It’s him! It’s Salo!” Jomo’s comrades stop firing, taking a second look. Their eyes widen in recognition. “Peace, my friends,” Salim says. “I’m not your enemy.” They lower their typhons, bewildered. “By the Mother,” Odari mutters. “It is you. But . . . how are you here?” Salim can’t say he remembers Odari or the other two youths. Perhaps they were among the Sentinels he met in the Red Temple. Thinking that perhaps his apparition is too solid, he weakens its intensity so that he is semitransparent and more obviously an illusion.
