Blood and Bone

CHAPTER XV

For Pon-lor, Saeng’s probing and tentative struggle to gain control of the Thaumaturgs’ ritual took place in an enlightening double vision. Through one eye he beheld the chamber: the ray-burst sigil of poured hammered gold, the coursing sizzling pillar of energy, and Saeng herself enmeshed within, arms raised, eyes closed in profound concentration. Through his other orb he beheld a bizarre manifestation he could only interpret as a glimpse of those foreign magical disciplines named Warrens, or, long ago, Holds. Beneath Saeng’s feet the gold appeared to be a molten poured pool: it shook with the lashings of power. The surface jumped and dimpled. At times it appeared so brilliant it could not possibly consist of any physical substance he knew but only of liquid light itself, flashing into existence, rippling and glaring, as if struggling to burst through.

Almost immediately the first of the masters arrived within the chamber. Pon-lor was not surprised to see Shu-jen, the Ninth. He grasped the man’s mind before he could study Saeng’s efforts and communicate with his brothers. The master responded superbly. He would have overcome Pon-lor had the latter not possessed his unique advantage. He succeeded in interrupting the man’s heart, then released him to stagger, gasping and staring sightlessly, and fall.

Three appeared next. Pon-lor engaged them all at once, keeping them occupied so that they could not direct their attention to Saeng. They turned to the attack immediately, hoping to rid themselves of him. Pon-lor allowed their terrifyingly strong efforts to slide through into the broken landscape of his mind where two became irretrievably lost and confused. The third managed to escape the trap, pulling his consciousness back just in time. Pon-lor pursued. He pushed his own jagged mismatched awareness into the master’s mind, where it broke the fellow’s identity in the manner of a thrown stone shattering a mirror.

He pulled back then in a panic as he sensed he was not alone. The remaining five of the Circle of Masters now stood about the circumference of the chamber. Their glittering narrowed gazes were all fixed on Saeng where she stood just visible within the roaring puissance.

The Prime Master transferred his attention and stood forward: Surin, tall and straight despite his extraordinarily extended years. He raised a finger. ‘I remember you from classes. Pon-lor, yes? Promising material. You have done well, but now we are aware of your … condition. It is fatal, you know.’

Pon-lor nodded. He was mentally exhausted and knew he could not overcome all five — as they knew as well. ‘Eventually,’ he agreed.

Surin shook his lean hound’s head as if in regret. ‘You fool. Do you not understand who is coming? He must be destroyed at all costs! It is our sacred trust to do so. We guard against all such threats. It is the purpose of our order. You know this, yes?’

Pon-lor stood weaving, hardly able to control his body. ‘I’m beginning to suspect that he simply kept you contained and so you tried to get rid of him.’

‘Poisonous revisionism! You are dangerous indeed.’ He nodded to his fellows. ‘Continue.’ His raised hand clenched to a fist and Pon-lor gasped as something took hold of his heart. His chest wrenched as if torn. A great vice had hold of his ribs and was tightening. He fell to his knees. Distantly, in a blur, he sensed the ritual spiralling inwards. It was condensing and concentrating to its final compelling. His one good eye remained fixed upon Surin as he fought the power striving to pulp his heart. His other eye, meanwhile, gazed upon the argent bands of energy as they writhed and spun, the silhouette of Saeng within. Even as both eyes dimmed, it was plain to him that the brilliant gold of the ray-burst now outshone the pulsing energies, and that light eventually completely overcame his vision.

The crushing pressure upon his chest eased. He blinked to see Surin now staring at the dais, horror on his face. He waved his arms, shouted. Movement disturbed the shadows behind the Prime Master and a tall shape loomed forward. It glittered from a thousand points like a field of stars. A flash of silver and the master’s expression eased into puzzlement. Then the head slid aside and toppled from the torso. The body fell. Hanu, behind, tottered to steady himself upon his huge yataghan blade.

The remaining four masters at the compass points now shared their leader’s panic. They sought to extricate themselves from a ritual invocation gone far beyond their control. Lineaments of the energies crept up invisible lines towards their hands.

The summoned energies continued to tighten and coalesce into one solid bar of argent light so searing as to glow white. Within, barely visible, was Saeng, arms still upraised, face pointed to the sky. Yet even as Pon-lor levered himself to his feet he could see that something had changed. She was lower. Sinking, in fact, into the liquid light that now grasped her knees. It appeared to Pon-lor’s odd eye that she held something in her cupped hands: an object of pure brilliance — the source of the argent.

A questing lightning-tongue of energy reached the hand of one flailing master. The flesh and bones flashed instantly into ash and motes of soot that floated about him. The tendril continued creeping up his entire arm until that too had disappeared into ash.

All the masters screamed soundlessly as the tendrils found them. Each was consumed piece by piece by the flickering tongues. Pon-lor limped down to the dais where he shaded his gaze to try to make out Saeng’s form. She had descended further into what could not be gold now at all, but rather swirling raw power, perhaps akin in form to that he’d read Chaos itself might take. It coursed upwards in a narrow, focused band that ran through her cupped hands.

As Pon-lor watched, helpless, her head sank below the surface. Only her arms were visible now, still upraised, holding what might or might not be anything more than some sort of kernel, or seed, of concentrated power.

Her hands slid down to the coursing glittering surface of shimmering energies and the bar of power snapped out of existence. In the resulting darkness his one good eye was blind, but the other saw the glowing ray-burst sigil pulsing like a fallen star. A huge shape moved next to him and Hanu thrust his arm down into the concentrated liquid energy. The stone armour glowed red, then slurried away in streams of molten rock that smoked and sparked.

The arm emerged holding Saeng’s. With both hands he heaved her from the dais to the floor where she lay naked, her body smoking.

‘We must go!’ Pon-lor shouted, still deafened by the roaring.

Hanu nodded ponderously, and picked up his sister. In passing, he also snatched up a cloak from one dead Thaumaturg and draped it over her.

Light filled the chamber, blinding Pon-lor’s one good eye once again. It came pouring in through the narrow entrance like water from a bucket — an absolute solid gushing radiance that then snapped away just as instantly.

‘Something has come,’ Pon-lor panted into the silence that followed. He motioned to the entrance.

They emerged into the temple grounds and all seemed normal and mundane. It was still light. The Visitor still hung low in the west. But now a slim dark cloud rose into the sky over the top of the intervening halls and squat towers of the temple complex. It was churning, impossibly narrow. It seemed to stretch as it reached for the heights, and was as black as soot. It climbed enormously tall then its top swelled out into a great suspended circular crown of night.

A strong wind blew out of the west and stirred the surrounding treetops. Torn leaves and branches soared overhead. An avalanche-like roaring reached Pon-lor’s punished ears. ‘Take cover!’ he yelled to Hanu then dived behind a wall. Hanu knelt over Saeng.

Something struck the walls, towers and colonnaded walks of the temple complex. A great swatting hand came out of the west. Pon-lor could not close his odd eye. It stared skyward and there it witnessed entire giant trees come tumbling overhead; boulders and stones, sections of stone arches, the top of a well, an animal flailing its limbs, and black clouds of a near-infinite amount of dirt and sand and dust.

In that lashing storm Pon-lor found himself in the odd position of the helpless bystander as the broken fragments of his mind finally drifted out of touch with one another. Slowly, as the storm lashed him without, he could only watch while an inner storm drove the disparate fragments of his consciousness, one by one, out of his awareness. His memories, his reasoning, his very identity, became not only incoherent and unrecognizable, but utterly blank: empty gaps — entire parts of him gone, missing and irretrievable.

As the black dust and ash settled over his body, a similar darkness settled over his mind until it smothered his identity and consciousness into complete nothingness and he wandered lost and unremembering within his own skull.

* * *

For all Shimmer could tell it was perhaps four days later, or the next day, when she was with Lor, walking the grounds near their collection of huts. She was thinking that they had wasted enough time awaiting Ardata’s indulgence and should just go. There was nothing for them here. It had been a mistake. Skinner would not show — the goddess and he were not on good terms. It was also in fact very dangerous for K’azz; Skinner might decide to eliminate him.

Lor, walking with her, suddenly snapped up her head, her long ash-blond hair whipping, and stopped. Shimmer followed her gaze to see Ardata herself sitting on the lowest step of a nearby stone stupa. She was attended by the young woman they had met their first day, wrapped in her folds of pure white silks.

She and Lor backed away towards camp.

As she went, she thought she saw the young woman studying her, and her gaze widening in a strange sort of shock.

Shimmer in return sensed something about her, but couldn’t quite identify it at the moment. She turned away to head for camp. There, everyone was standing, eyeing the distant stupa and the woman in white robes with the cascading black hair. K’azz nodded to Shimmer. ‘It would appear to be time for my audience,’ he murmured to her, wryly.

‘You shouldn’t go alone.’

‘You are right, of course. I shouldn’t. But I will. Keep watch.’

‘Of course.’

He headed off. Walking away in his torn shirt and trousers, so thin and wiry, he seemed achingly fragile; like some starving beggar or wretched vagabond. Shimmer motioned Gwynn to her. ‘Anyone else around?’

The man rubbed his forehead, grimacing his pain. ‘Impossible to tell. Ardata’s presence saturates everything. But if we are blind, then so are they.’

She grunted her acknowledgement, her eyes on the two as they spoke. Ardata motioned and the young woman left them. Shimmer noted her limp.

The two spoke alone for some time. Neither raised their voice or gesticulated. K’azz then gestured aside, inviting, and they walked away into the woods. Shimmer watched until they passed out of sight.

‘Should I follow?’ Gwynn asked.

She shook her head. ‘No. Allow them their privacy. There’s nothing we can do to stop her from pulling something anyway. No. We will wait.’ She eased herself down with her back to a tree, fanned herself to keep the bugs away. Cole and Amatt returned to preparing the palm leaves to be woven into the roof of another hut. Turgal sat at their main hut and helped himself to a drink from the pot they kept topped with sweetwater. Gwynn and Lor were arguing about something while squinting off to the west.

Shimmer peered in that direction: the light did seem strange through the trees to the west. A new glow seemed to be diminishing the baleful emerald presence of the Visitor.

Lor and Gwynn sensed it first. They both jerked to their feet as if at a loud noise. Shimmer was quick to follow. She scanned the surroundings and what she discovered there made her shoulders fall. They were encircled by a ring of faces every one of which she knew. The full complement of the Disavowed. Skinner had brought everyone.

They drove Turgal ahead of them as they closed. The man himself came forward, his arms out, as if to say: Fancy meeting you lot here.

Gwynn, Shimmer noted, had squared off against Mara, while Lor eyed Petal. Shimmer turned her full attention to Skinner and was startled to see that the man was not armed. If I could slay him all this would be over. Her hand went to the grip of her whipsword. He and I.

She edged forward, knees bent, while Skinner merely watched, a strange grin playing about his mouth.

A flash blinded Shimmer then — coming out of the west. She blinked, quite dazzled, and rubbed at her eyes. Everyone round her was cursing the light. Then Lor screamed. Shimmer groped for her. She blinked away tears as she searched for her through dark spots floating before her eyes. She found her writhing on the ground, her hands at her face. Fresh blood smeared her eyes, mouth and nose. She was whimpering as if beyond agony.

‘What is it?’ Shimmer demanded, yelling.

‘The Warrens,’ Lor gurgled through a mouthful of blood. ‘Struck!’

She straightened. What is this? Some sort of censure from Ardata? She saw Skinner leaning over a prostrate Mara. He turned his head to her and she returned her hand to her weapon. Do it now, woman — end it!

‘Hold!’ The voice cut across the grounds, unstrained, yet utterly commanding. Shimmer slipped her hand from her weapon. Skinner merely grinned, as if having read her mind.

The Disavowed parted and Ardata, accompanied by K’azz, entered.

‘She’ll kill you,’ Shimmer whispered to Skinner.

He straightened and pushed back his dirty-blond hair. Leaning to her, he answered as if confiding a secret: ‘She cannot kill me — no one can.’ He tapped the black scales of his armour.

A surly ‘Don’t count on it’ was the best she could manage.

Shimmer knelt again at Lor’s side. The woman was unconscious, as were most of the rest of the mages: Gwynn, Mara, Petal and Red. Unconscious or weakly struggling, utterly incapacitated. She stood and peered about to catch the gaze of all the nearby Disavowed. None would meet her eye.

‘What has happened here?’ Skinner demanded of Ardata.

She was peering to the west and Shimmer was quite startled to see unguarded wonder, even amazement, upon her face. ‘A surprise. A great surprise. Something very strange and … unexpected.’ She seemed unable to wrest her gaze from that horizon.

‘A disruption in the Warrens?’ Shimmer asked.

‘Far more than a disruption,’ Ardata answered, distracted. ‘An impact. But over now. The ripples diminish even as we speak.’

Next to Ardata, K’azz lightly tilted his head in greeting to his one-time lieutenant. ‘Skinner.’

‘K’azz,’ Skinner answered. He bowed to Ardata. ‘My apologies, m’lady.’

‘Skinner,’ she answered. With a visible effort, she turned her troubled gaze from the west. ‘You may not believe me when I say this — but it is good to see you again.’

He bowed once more. Then he returned his attention to K’azz. He studied his old commander as if disappointed. ‘It was foolish of you to come. That is, unless …’ He raised one brow in an unspoken question.

Ardata’s already thin lipless mouth tightened even further. ‘You take much upon yourself, Skinner. Have a care.’

‘A care? Very well … just what did you talk about?’

‘We spoke of responsibilities,’ K’azz supplied.

‘Responsibilities? Really? Is that so. Well … I have responsibilities as well.’ He gestured about to the Disavowed. ‘To my people. To lead them to the most advantageous position I can gain for them. And so, in consideration of that, I ask that you stand aside as Commander of the Crimson Guard and allow me to ascend to that position. Really, K’azz. It would be for the best. I hear you do not seem very interested in any of this of late.’

Shimmer listened, horrified. Horrified because, in a ruthless light, the man’s words possessed an awful logic. They were a mercenary company that took no contracts despite an empty treasury. That desperately needed to recruit to strengthen their numbers, yet hardly admitted any new members. That had sworn opposition to the Malazans, yet had withdrawn from all such direct opposition. And the prince was a commander who seemed completely uninterested in command. What, then, were they?

K’azz shook his head. It seemed to Shimmer that remorse pulled the skin tight about his eyes. ‘No. I cannot stand aside. Nor can you remove me. We are stuck with each other. And so I ask you — and all those who chose to follow you — to return to the Guard.’

Skinner raised a hand for a moment’s pause. ‘Oh, I am thinking of returning to the Guard.’ He beckoned to Shijel, who handed over one of his longswords. Skinner hefted it, getting a feel for the long slim blade. He returned his attention to K’azz and his mouth quirked up in that way it did when he was indulging his savage side. ‘But I have a condition first.’

The light changed again and Shimmer could not help but glance to the west. Darkness now gathered there, rather prematurely. It was as if sunset had somehow crept in upon them, though she knew it was hours before twilight. Yet there it was, a swelling adumbral gloom, spreading to encompass the west, swallowing the sun.

K’azz did not move though he must know what the man intended. ‘Do not do this, Skinner.’ His tone was beseeching but Shimmer felt that it was not for his life that he feared. She thought that Skinner, however, would take it that way. And she knew she was right when she saw how his mouth twisted his disgust — He thinks K’azz is pleading for his life. But if not that — then what is he doing?

He raised the longsword in both hands like a headsman’s axe. ‘I will make it quick, K’azz.’

Do something, K’azz! Shimmer pleaded. Why won’t you do something?

Ardata lifted a pale hand. ‘Before you act, Skinner, I have one final request of you.’

He let the blade slowly fall but did not shift his gaze from K’azz. ‘Oh?’

‘Yes. And you will consider carefully before answering, won’t you?’

Something in her tone warned him and he stepped back from K’azz to turn and give her his full attention. K’azz, for his part, merely lowered his gaze, his mouth clenched tight.

‘Yes?’ Skinner said.

‘I ask you, Skinner, one final time, that you reconsider my offer and stand here at my side.’

He took a long slow breath, pushed back his bunched hair. ‘We have been through this …’

‘Consider carefully,’ she warned him again.

‘Ardata — m’lady. This … place … is not for me. I have no wish to remain.’

‘No wish …’ she echoed faintly, her brows crimping.

A distant clatter of dry branches and a flurry of leaves announced the arrival of a strong wind out of the west. It blustered through the grounds stirring up clouds of dust that everyone waved from their faces. Leaves and broken branches gyred about. Shimmer brushed the dark dust, mixed with a scattering of ash, from her shoulders and sleeves.

Ardata’s dark eyes had been drawn again to the west, where they rested, full of puzzlement. A hand went to her white throat. ‘No wish …’ she repeated, as if to herself.

Skinner glanced about, uncertain. No one dared move as the goddess appeared to be approaching some decision that she seemed to dread. She turned back to Skinner. ‘If you must go, then I must take back my gift.’

Now Skinner frowned, even more wary. ‘You told me yourself,’ he answered, speaking very carefully, ‘that no one in the world would be able to do that. Not even you, should you wish it.’

‘That is true. No one can take my gift from you,’ she agreed. ‘However … I can ask that it return to me.’

She held out her slim hand and beckoned. A metallic shifting and grating sounded, coming from Skinner who spun, peering down at himself, his brows now clenched. ‘What is this …?’ he murmured.

Shimmer peered more closely as some sort of rippling gleamed from the long coat of mail. It was as if each link was moving of its own accord.

The scales were shifting, she was certain. Each seemed to wiggle individually. She thought she saw multiple legs unlocking as, in descending waves, each scale detached itself from its fellows.

Skinner spun faster. He slapped at himself. ‘What is this …?’ he shouted, panic in his voice.

‘I am sorry, Skinner,’ Ardata said, her voice sad, yet firm. ‘I gave you every chance. But you have chosen to reject my gifts.’

Skinner then threw his head back and howled. The scales, Shimmer saw, were scales no longer. Each was a thin black spider the size of a coin. They were digging themselves into his flesh, perhaps gnawing their way in, disappearing into him. He fell, thrashing and shrieking in agony. Shimmer turned her face, yet could not look entirely away. An arm reached out, beckoning to Ardata, who merely watched, her face immobile.

Inhuman, Shimmer reminded herself, remembering K’azz’s warning. Not human.

Skinner was now no more than a writhing pile of wiggling black spiders. Here and there patches of wet white bone gleamed through the heap. More and more of the skeleton revealed itself. The heaving and twisting of the heap slowed, then halted. The swarm of spiders hissed and squirmed amid the pale bones. Then Ardata lowered her hand and the spiders — if they were indeed mere spiders — scuttled off the carcass in a flowing slurry of midnight that made its way across the dusty ground to slip beneath the lip of her robes and disappear.

Shimmer fought a shudder and a heave of revulsion that would have doubled her over. She saw Mara staring, her face sickly grey and frozen in shock and disbelief. Cole, Amatt and Turgal all stared, their faces hardening, though not in triumph or victory but in anger, and Shimmer thought she understood. He might have betrayed them, abandoned the Guard, but in the end they were not pleased to see him fall for he was one of them.

Oh, Skinner. I am so sorry. We all tried to warn you. Yet you would not be turned from your path. You betrayed everyone, didn’t you? And, in the end, so too were you.

In the long silence that followed, K’azz cleared his throat and murmured: ‘Perilous indeed are the gifts of Ardata.’

‘As are all the gifts of the Azathanai,’ said a new voice.

Ardata spun. ‘Who are you?’

It was a middle-aged woman in dirty torn robes. She bowed. Behind her stood a file of soldiers who appeared to Shimmer to be Quon Talian, yet were painted and dressed in native fashion in loose loincloths. They did, however, still have their weapons, which they carried in their hands or on belts about their shoulders. Two of the soldiers carried bodies over their shoulders — more unconscious mages perhaps.

‘Just a sorceress,’ the woman murmured.

‘Yet you are not overcome in the … disturbance?’

‘I managed to protect myself in time.’

‘How very fortunate for you.’ Ardata pressed her hand to her throat once more. She tilted her head and her voice fell to a low whisper: ‘Do I know you …?’

Shimmer felt the hairs of her neck stirring in the sudden crackling of energy in the air. What is this? A confrontation? Who is this woman?

‘It is … possible,’ the sorceress allowed.

‘And what is it you wish?’ Ardata asked, her attention full on the woman. Shimmer shivered upon seeing her robes stirring as if with a life of their own.

The newcomer was completely unruffled. ‘I wish a great deal,’ she answered offhandedly. ‘First, however, we really ought to speak of your daughter.’

Ardata laughed, yet her hand clutched at her throat. ‘You are mistaken. I have no daughter.’

The woman’s face stiffened. ‘That is a terrible thing to say, Ardata.’

The Queen of Witches threw her arms straight down, the fingers clawed. Dust swirled about her. Beneath Shimmer’s sandalled feet the ground shuddered as if drummed. Rocks tumbled down nearby ruined walls. The tall palms swayed.

K’azz gestured, his hand signing the imperative: retreat!

Shijel darted forward to snatch his sword then ducked away, hunched. K’azz waved Shimmer back.

The sorceress beckoned aside, close to Shimmer. Backing away Shimmer bumped into someone. She spun to find the girl, or young woman, wrapped in her white robes. Yet for an instant she did not appear young. Rather, it was as if she were an aged crone, her face disfigured, the flesh swollen, grey and pebbled, the eyes clouded to blind white staring orbs. Shimmer reached out to steady her. At that moment she returned to the appearance of the young woman, her face pretty once more, elfin and heart-shaped. She peered up at Shimmer, searchingly. ‘It is you,’ she murmured, full of wonder. ‘The one I have seen so often. Even when I was a child. Why is that?’

Shimmer stared, stricken. Unmerciful gods! It is her. One and the same. The child, woman, crone. Oh, the fate that awaits you … She rested her hands gently on the young woman’s slim shoulders.

The girl, whose frightened gaze now peered at Ardata, jumped at the touch. She peered up, shivering, wary. She shuddered as if she were desperate to escape. ‘Be brave,’ Shimmer told her, her voice thick with emotion. ‘Be brave.’ The girl started in recognition, then gave a solemn determined nod.

Shimmer ached to hold her then but the sorceress beckoned again, calling, ‘Come.’

‘Strangers frighten her!’ Ardata called.

The sorceress took the young woman’s hand. She faced Ardata. ‘Or perhaps it is you who are frightened that others should see her?’

A wordless animal snarl escaped the Queen of Witches. Power now rose about her in glimmering tendrils like the lacing of webbing. She threw out an arm, pointing. ‘Who are you? How dare you?’

The sorceress held the girl before her, hands on her shoulders. The ground between her and Ardata erupted into flames. The thin grass blew away in rising ash and soot. Then the soil crackled and smoked as if dropped into a crucible. It slumped into a growing pool of glowing liquid rock.

K’azz, Shimmer, her companions, the Avowed and Disavowed, all flinched back then. They shielded their faces against the blasting heat. A lean woman had been hovering close to the sorceress all this time. She had one good arm, the other bound to her side. At that moment she darted forward and wrapped her one arm round the girl to pull her aside. The woman’s sandals, shirt and hair burst aflame as she did so. Soldiers rushed forward with a few tattered blankets to throw over her. Through the waves of heat and smoke it appeared to Shimmer that the girl was weeping.

‘Let her go, Ardata,’ the sorceress called through the crackling filaments. ‘It is time to let go.’

‘Who are you!’ the Queen of Witches howled.

‘Look closely … sister,’ the sorceress answered.

Ardata jerked back a step, her eyes growing huge. ‘No! Not you.’

The sorceress’s voice came loud and reverberating: ‘Let it all go, sister.’

‘No!’ She thrust her arms out and a coruscating wall of power washed towards the sorceress, only to halt suspended between them. The sorceress seemed to be holding it in place, somehow containing it.

K’azz bellowed over the roar in his best battlefield voice: ‘Retreat!’

Everyone now scrambled in earnest. The one-armed woman chaperoned the girl off while soldiers carried the unconscious, or bleary, mages. Shimmer saw Quon soldiers falling and being helped up by Disavowed as everyone fled in a panic from the titanic and still escalating confrontation.

Behind a set of low ruined walls and a broken bell-shaped tower, Shimmer paused and turned back to watch. A glaring light of summoned powers blazed from the clearing beyond. K’azz came to her side, as did an older officer whose bearing fairly shouted imperial service. Both forces gathered here all intermingled. One of the Quon soldiers was hurried over; he was supported by two others. This one wore only a loincloth, his hair a tangled mess. His goggling eyes were tearing, bloodshot, and he was squeezing his head as if to keep it from flying apart. ‘Still too close!’ he shouted to the officer, his words slurred. ‘Just run for it!’

The officer caught K’azz’s gaze and they shared a curt nod.

‘Move out!’ K’azz yelled.

Everyone set off once more at the fastest possible pace. Soldiers shared the burden of the staggering and dazed mages. Two ran past carrying Petal draped over a stretcher between them. The one-armed woman, singed, her hair half gone, actually scooped up the girl and took off with her at a run. Shimmer stared, amazed. Damn! Who is that woman?

Glancing back over her shoulder, she saw the top of a swelling dome of lightning-lanced power. It appeared to be chasing after them. The expanding wall of flickering energies swallowed trees and ruins as it came.

‘Hurry!’ she yelled, now truly panicked.

Everyone ran. They dodged trees, jumped the low stone foundations of buildings long gone. Far ahead, Black the Lesser pointed aside to a long earthwork mound. Yes! Intervening ground. The ragtag column curved in that direction.

When they reached the rear of the steep earthen mound they threw themselves down behind stone blocks and tall thick trees. Beyond the hillock, the sky blazed now with an astounding swelling concentration of power that appeared as bright as a sunrise. To the west, behind them, the sky hung a deep purple-black that choked the setting sun.

Then the bubble burst. That was the only way Shimmer could interpret what happened. A wave of pressure struck the mound a hammer blow and it juddered. Trees flew backwards from its crest. The wave hit them all like mattocks to the chest and Shimmer grunted, her breath knocked from her.

Dirt, dust and broken branches swept over and past them. Shimmer waved the dust from her, coughing, and searched among the crouched soldiers and Disavowed. She found the girl still with the one-armed woman. From the girl’s shuddering Shimmer could tell she still wept. The woman appeared to be whispering soothingly to her.

After the dust and branches swirled away there came a descending wave of leaves, and intermingled with them fluttered countless flower petals. They rained down over everyone in tears of crimson, purest white and orange and pink. She plucked one from her arm to rub its skin-like smoothness in her fingers.

She allowed herself to fall back against the tree she’d taken shelter behind. She draped her arms over her knees and let out a long breath. It was over — yet what was over? Just what had happened? From her encounters with Ardata, and from what they heard, she could only guess that the being was somehow holding on to everything. The past, the present, the future. Grasping them all at once and not letting anything go. Not even discerning between them. And perhaps she could live like that, as one of these Elder Gods. But what of others? What of her daughter? If indeed the girl truly was her daughter — not that she had to be. She deserved a life regardless. Even if it would be a hard one.

Everyone lay where they had fallen, breathless, almost dazed. The mages groaned and held their heads, wiped dried blood from their faces. Sitting back, Shimmer studied the western horizon and the setting sun. She saw Black the Lesser approach K’azz and the commander rose to take his hand and they shook.

So we are reunited. As we should be. One company. One troop. One … family?

Her gaze went to the girl. She appeared to be asleep now, nestled in the lean woman’s arm.

Shimmer let her head fall back. Yes, sleep. Could use some of that now. Have a look in the morning. She shut her eyes and allowed the muscles of her neck, shoulders, back and legs to unclench and fall into relaxation. And only then, finally, after weeks of fruitless searching, did she finally slip into a proper slumber.

*

Jatal opened his eyes to a landscape of undifferentiated grey. Pewter ash filled the air like a thick storm of drifting snow. It covered everything in pillow-like humps: the field of fallen tree trunks lying scattered for as far as he could see, the broken stripped branches, the scoured-smooth ground between. Even his arms, hands and legs lay beneath a downy layer of the flakes. He raised a hand to brush it away.

‘Ah!’ announced a disembodied voice nearby. ‘You live!’

He peered about; he could see no one.

An ash-fleeced boulder nearby moved. It stood and stretched. The slate-hued powder fell away in great clouds.

‘So, my friend — they missed!’ Scarza announced. ‘Us, in any case.’

‘Mostly,’ Jatal added, managing a self-mocking twist of a smile.

‘Ah-ha! Glad to be alive, hey?’

Jatal’s smile fell away. ‘We must search for him.’

‘I believe we will find him beneath a very large rock.’

‘None the less.’ Jatal struggled to rise. The half-Trell pushed him down. ‘Do not attempt that yet. Rest. Recover.’ He held out a singed black carcass about the size of a rat. ‘Eat.’

Jatal took it and held it up to examine it. ‘Did you cook this?’

‘The firestorm did,’ Scarza offered blithely. ‘I believe it used to be some sort of tree-dwelling rodent.’

‘Firestorm?’

‘You do not remember?’

‘No.’

‘You saved my life.’

‘I did?’

‘You most certainly did.’

Jatal tried to tear some meat from the dry carcass. ‘I don’t remember.’

‘“The stream!” You shouted that right away. I hadn’t thought of it. But running back to the stream saved us.’

‘What stream?’

Scarza bent and dug up a handful of clotted mud and ash. ‘This one.’

‘Ah. I see.’ He felt his tattered robe and shirt. They were damp. He touched the back of his head where only bristles of hair remained. ‘All I remember is that flash. Like the world ending. Golden light.’ He did not mention that when they were running he thought he saw another bright gleam of light. It had come from the western horizon and had flashed a vivid emerald green.

He glanced up to the sky, squinting. The Visitor still glowed there, fat and monstrous, like a gibbous moon behind the thick churning black clouds. He pushed himself to his feet. There was no sense hanging about here. Nothing to eat or drink; they would only weaken — better to do that on the march. He struggled past Scarza who watched him go, his face falling into a deepening frown.

‘You are in such a hurry to die?’

‘Live or die, it matters not.’

Scarza called, ‘There is nothing left of him!’

Jatal halted, peered back. ‘No. He still lives. I am sure.’

The half-Trell rose, rubbing his jowls, and followed. ‘How can you be so sure?’

‘I am.’

They walked a nightmare landscape of blasted jungle and sludge-choked streams. Everywhere lay the flash-seared fallen trunks. Ash smothered everything. It still fell from the roiling clouds in great flurries that cloaked the distances. Jatal tore off a strip of cloth and tied it over his nose and mouth. It was like the sandstorms they sometimes endured in their homeland. Scarza merely tramped on, uncomplaining, brushing the powdery layer from his arms.

The trees, Jatal saw, had all been flattened in one direction — roughly angled from the southeast — the point of impact, he realized. If the demon were to be found anywhere, he imagined, it would be there. He started following the line marked by the fallen trunks.

‘And if we find him?’ Scarza asked much later that day. ‘What then? I wanted to kill him. But now I’m tired of it. I’d rather just have a drink.’

Jatal ached with thirst as well, and he hungered. Such urges, however, were mere demands of the flesh — brute expectations of continued existence. An expectation he did not share. Sometimes he fancied he could see her face in the swirling clouds of ash. She was smiling down upon him.

Soon, my love. Soon. I shall give myself to you.

*

Saeng started awake from a strange dream; a sensation of drowning, oddly enough. Not since she was a child had she dreamed of drowning. Yet it hadn’t been water she’d been slipping into — it had been a strange glowing liquid more like molten gold or some other white-hot metal.

Aside from the nightmare of that struggle, she felt physically rested, renewed even. Better than she had since leaving home. She stirred and opened her eyes: she lay in what she recognized as the temple grounds. Dirt covered everything, and over that lay a pillowy layer of ash. White drifting flakes still fell in a light snow. All was eerily silent. Her ears rang with the quiet after the constant cacophony of the jungle.

She tried to stand and reached out to steady herself. Her hand rested on a hump next to her that felt familiar. She brushed the ash and dirt away to reveal Hanu’s gleaming mosaic of inlaid armour. She rushed to clear his helmed head.

‘Hanu!’

She listened, her breathing heavy, but he did not answer.

‘Hanu — speak to me!’ she sent to his thoughts.

Still he was silent. She ran a hand down his chest to find a sticky layer of congealed ash and dirt. Her hand came away smeared.

Oh, Hanu … I’m so sorry …

She gently lowered her head to his side and wept.

After that she slept again for a time. When she awakened once more she kissed his helm on its forehead and pushed herself up. She’d been wrapped in a loose cloak, and this she adjusted as best she could. She remembered, vaguely, that there had been others as well — the Thaumaturg mage, Pon-lor. She looked back to the main temple: it had collapsed into a heap of cut stone blocks. So, he too. I am sorry, Thaumaturg. I misjudged you.

She turned away to trace her route back. Her sandalled feet pushed through the thick blanket of ash. The pale flakes dusted her robes, hair and eyelashes. Soon, she came to a trail through the heaped layers. She followed it to one of the colonnaded walks of the temple complex that led to a hall and an arched opening facing west. The arch was tilted rather alarmingly, and the stone floor was uneven, the stones having been pushed up here and there. Sitting in the threshold of the pointed arch, facing away, was a familiar figure: the Thaumaturg himself.

‘Pon-lor!’ she called.

He did not respond. She came up behind him. Still he did not move. Close now, above and behind him, she believed she saw why. The entire left side of his head was a misshapen mess of weeping fluids caked and crusted in blood and dusted in ash.

Slowly, she came round him to stand before him. His eyes were open but no recognition lit them. Indeed, nothing inhabited them. They stared sightlessly, inanimate, like painted orbs on a statue. Tentatively, she reached out to touch his chest. He breathed still, and his heart beat. But he was no longer present. She had seen such things before in her village. Severe fevers had left their victims like this. Then, the only answer had been the mercy of a swift gentle death.

Something she could not bring herself to do. Yet what could she do? She couldn’t just walk away. She sat down next to him, took his cold unresponsive hand in hers, and thought about it.

She looked to the west as well. What had drawn him here? Some atavistic memory or urge? What had he been searching for, or looking at?

Far off, the dense black clouds had dispersed. Only much higher, thinner clouds remained. The light pale ash was falling from these. It was late afternoon; the sun was now on its way down into the west. Its heat passed through the intervening high cloud cover to press against her face. The Visitor was still present, of course. But diminishing now. On its way back to wherever it had come from. Its baleful glow was nowhere as strong as it had been just days ago. Close by rode the moon as well. A pale smear hardly visible through the thin clouds. Soon, things would return to normal and it would be the brightest object in the night-time sky once again.

And then she knew just what she could do.

She stood in the archway and raised a hand. She formed a circle with her fingers and thumb that she held up to the moon where it hung in the sky. She raised her power and it came smoothly now, naturally, as if somehow melded with her as it had never been before.

And she sent a summons, casting it afar, urging: ‘Come.’

* * *

A poke to his shoulder awoke Murk. The first thing he noted was the worst headache in recent memory. He squeezed his head in his arms and groaned. Through slit eyes he peered about: he was lying against a tree, a light dusting of ash covering him and everything. Peering down at him was Sweetly. The twig stood straight out from his clamped shut mouth. The scout jerked his head to indicate he was wanted and in what direction.

Some things, it seemed, remained just the same.

Stretching and rubbing his brow, Murk walked across a litter of fallen branches. Aside, a confab of some sort was shaping up. Yusen together with Burastan faced the mercenary leader K’azz and his second, a short wiry woman he knew by reputation as Shimmer.

How similar yet utterly dissimilar the men were. Both pretending to be mercenaries, yet remaining far from it. Allies, they remained a mere sword’s edge from sworn blood enemies: Malazans versus Crimson Guard.

Yusen nodded a greeting to Murk. K’azz eyed him guardedly.

‘We’ve decided on a reconnoitre,’ Yusen said. ‘Are you and your partner up for it?’

‘Yes, sir. We’re good.’

‘Okay. Have a look see and report back.’

Murk jerked his assent, gave a shallow nod to K’azz, and went to find Sour.

Together, they headed out of camp. Sour, it appeared, was in no better shape than he. The remnants of dried blood caked his face and he winced whenever the sunlight reached him.

‘Why us?’ he complained, his voice low. ‘Why not one o’ them fancy-pants Crimson Guard mages? Why should we be the ones to have to stick our necks out?’

Murk shrugged as he walked along. ‘Musta been some kind of negotiation. A gesture of trust from K’azz, maybe. I don’t know exactly.’

His partner slouched along next to him with his awkward crab-like gait. ‘Oh, we’re the famous Crimson Guard,’ he minced. ‘We’re too fancy to do any work.’

Murk burst out laughing and had to stop walking. Sour’s brows clenched together in puzzlement. ‘Wazzat?’

Still chuckling, Murk waved it aside. ‘Nothing. C’mon. It’s just nice to know that things have returned to normal round here.’

Clear of the mound, they came across a broad squat tree that offered good cover from the sun. Murk picked a spot in the deepest shadow. Sour sat down with his back to a root. Murk crossed his legs and pressed his fingers together on his lap. ‘So,’ he said. ‘That was one amazing blowup.’

‘Sure was,’ his partner agreed, his bulging eyes edging aside.

‘Gonna ’fess up?’

‘ ’Fess up to what?’

‘You knew who that was all along — didn’t you?’

Sour blushed furiously, clearing his throat. ‘Wasn’t for me to say. She wanted to be all ’nonymous. So I played along.’

‘Well … you could have told your partner.’

‘Sorry. I was afraid she’d turn me into something.’

‘You already are something, Sour.’

‘Hunh?’ His partner scrunched up his wrinkled face in puzzlement.

Murk sighed. ‘Never mind. Let’s have a look.’

Murk gently raised his Warren while tensed for an overt objection, or counter-gesture, from any other quarter. Sensing nothing, he slipped his awareness off a distance to the nearest deep shadow. Here he waited until he felt Sour’s awareness keeping watch on him. Then he set off searching the grounds of Jakal Viharn.

The blast had knocked down many trees, but not all. The thinner, younger ones remained standing, albeit stripped of most of their branches. As for the many ruins dotting the grounds, well, to Murk they all looked pretty much the same: ruined.

He searched for some time, finding nothing. The place was empty, abandoned. The blast had driven off all the wildlife: the birds, the monkeys, even the deer he’d spotted foraging among the brush here and there. As for those half-creatures, call them what you would, none remained that he could find.

His poking about brought him down to the river where a number of ruins lay as little more than foundation lines, canted stupas and sturdy bell-shaped hollow cells or sculptures. Here he spotted someone he’d never seen before: a big hefty-looking fellow with long hair tied back with a clasp. He was sitting on the ground, legs crossed, thick arms draped over his knees. His gaze was resting aside and upwards, regarding someone or something. Murk shifted his point of view among the shadows until he could see what the man was studying.

It was a woman seated on a step before a broken heap of stones that might’ve been an altar at one time. She wore long loose white robes, her limbs were long and slim, and her black hair was cut quite short. As he saw her, so too did her gaze move to sharpen on him. She waved him forward and his heart lurched as a panicked tightening across his chest crushed it. Shit! One’s still here. But which?

She waved again — yet not so imperiously as he imagined Ardata might have. He emerged from the shadows to start across the open grounds between. The giant fellow surged to his feet.

‘It is all right, Nagal,’ the woman said. Murk could not identify her by her voice; she sounded like neither of the Azathanai. The man, Nagal, edged protectively closer to the woman.

Murk halted a few paces distant and bowed. ‘Whom do I have the honour of addressing?’

‘Your manners should be a lesson to your master, mage of Meanas. But I am afraid there is little hope in that arena.’

Murk remained bowed, his eyes downcast, waiting.

A sigh escaped the woman. ‘Very well.’ Her robes brushed as she leaned forward. ‘Shall I let you into a secret, Murken Warrow, mage of Shadow?’

Murk swallowed with difficulty. He wanted no secrets of the Azathanai. ‘I seek no boon,’ he answered softly.

‘That is good. I see these last few lessons have not been lost upon you. No, no boon. Just a confession.’ She lowered her voice even further. ‘The truth is … not even I know for certain.’

‘It’s T’riss,’ Sour’s voice whispered in Murk’s ear.

Murk raised his gaze. The Azathanai was peering beyond him, a playful smile at her lips. ‘Greetings, Sour. You are well informed. As I would expect.’

‘And the other?’ Murk enquired slowly, ‘if I may ask?’

‘She has withdrawn. Released all that she ought to have released ages ago. And who knows, perhaps she will learn to accept all she ought to have accepted all these ages. She no longer manifests a presence directly here in the mundane. As for the future,’ she gave a small shrug, ‘who can say?’

‘A goddess in truth,’ Murk murmured.

‘Precisely. Together with all that comes with it — desired or not.’

‘And yourself?’ Murk asked, emboldened enough to lift a brow.

The woman’s smile broadened and she spread her arms. ‘Myself? I am merely an Enchantress. Nothing more. Now,’ she waved them off, ‘go get your superiors. I will speak with them.’

A small contingent was brought together. K’azz selected his lieutenant, Shimmer, together with two mages, Gwynn and Lor. Yusen brought Burastan, Murk and Sour. The girl came as well, accompanied by the swordswoman whom she clung to and wouldn’t be parted from.

The party made its way across the grounds of Jakal Viharn. A fine white ash dusted everything like snow. It fell as a thin drifting sleet. The utter silence was almost a shock to Murk. Even their footsteps were smothered. It was as if they walked in another world, he imagined.

T’riss, if indeed it was she, awaited them as before. Murk noted that upon seeing the big man, Nagal, K’azz and party paused in recognition. He came to them before they reached the Enchantress.

‘Nagal,’ K’azz greeted him. ‘I am sorry about Rutana.’

The giant nodded, frowning. He gazed down at his wide hands, clenched as if yet ready to grasp some foe. ‘Even after what he did she still would not allow me …’ His voice thickened until he could not continue and he lowered his head even further. ‘I was so angered. I ran …’

‘I’m sorry.’

The man nodded and walked away, his head lowered as he examined his knotted hands. K’azz turned to the Enchantress, who urged everyone forward. The girl ran ahead only to come to an abrupt halt as if shocked or uncertain. The Enchantress rose and embraced her. ‘We will speak later, Lek. We have much to catch up.’ She raised her gaze to the swordswoman. ‘You too, Ina. After this.’

The swordswoman, Ina, nodded, and wrapped her one arm around the girl to lead her away. They walked a distance and sat together on the tumbled blocks of a fallen wall.

Murk watched them go feeling an ache in his own chest. Both wounded. Doesn’t it make sense they should seek each other out? The girl’s vulnerability made him think of Celeste. Gone now, as well. He hoped she was not unhappy with her choice.

‘Captain Yusen,’ the Enchantress began sharply. ‘I understand you have a request of me.’

‘I do. We request transport out of Jacuruku.’

T’riss waved an assent. ‘I will send you anywhere you wish to go. No doubt you will want time to discuss this with your troops.’

‘Of course. Our thanks.’ He gestured for Burastan and Murk and Sour to move off.

‘Before you go, however,’ the Enchantress continued, ‘I possess some information that might bear upon your choice.’

Yusen turned back, his gaze tightening. ‘Yes?’

‘In Aren, Seven Cities. Since the killing of the Fist last year, there has been an investigation. It seems that his plans to usurp imperial authority have been uncovered, together with his murder of several officers who would not cooperate. His death diverted civil unrest that would have cost the lives of thousands. I believe the price upon the head of his killer, together with his fugitive followers, has been rescinded.’

Yusen remained utterly still. His gaze shifted to Burastan, whose eyes had grown huge. ‘We will need time to discuss this,’ he managed, his voice thick.

‘Of course.’

Yusen and Burastan bowed and walked away. Murk watched them go. What do you know? I would never have guessed. But I did wonder. Sour and I sniffed something there.

The Enchantress turned to K’azz and after their gazes met for a moment Murk was surprised to see that it was she who lowered her eyes. After a long silence, she spoke down to her hands clasped on her lap: ‘Do not ask that of me.’

‘Then where, Enchantress?’ The man’s voice was brittle with suppressed emotion. ‘Where must I go for my answer?’

‘There is only one place left.’ She spoke very slowly, as if reconsidering. ‘But there is great danger. Not just to you …’

‘I am asking for knowledge, Enchantress. Surely you would not be one to withhold that?’

Her answering smile was cold. Yet she tilted her head, granting the point. ‘Very well. In only one place can you find your answers, K’azz … Assail. Only there.’

The mercenary commander received the news as if he’d been half expecting it. He nodded to himself as she spoke. ‘My thanks, Enchantress.’

‘Let us hope your thanks do not turn to curses.’

‘Yes.’

‘I also offer you transport back to Stratem.’

‘That would be most welcome,’ the mercenary commander answered, sounding very relieved.

‘I am sure.’

He bowed, as did his lieutenant, Shimmer, and the mages. The Enchantress turned to Murk and Sour. ‘Now … what can I do for you two?’

‘As I said,’ Murk answered, clearing his throat. ‘I seek no gift.’

‘Yes. However,’ and she rose to lean close to him, ‘I can offer you this.’ And she brushed his cheek with her lips. Murk’s knees went numb and he staggered, utterly shocked.

To his stunned puzzlement she said: ‘That was for how you handled a very delicate relationship. I offer it in her place. Well done, Murken Warrow.’

Murk found himself walking off, a hand at his cheek, hardly aware of his surroundings. Well, damn, maybe he should take up worship of the Queen of Dreams. From this day forward she might just be the queen of his dreams anyway.

He must have been standing staring into the distance for some time when someone cleared her throat next to him. He started, blinking, and looked over. It was Burastan.

‘She has that effect, doesn’t she?’ she said.

Murk rubbed his cheek. ‘Yeah. She sure does.’

‘C’mon. We’re debating where to go. I’m all for returning straight to Aren. Yusen says no. He suggests some frontier town in Genabackis. Feel out the situation. What do you say?’

‘Did he really kill the Fist of Aren?’

‘Yeah. Stabbed him right over his briefing table. I did for his aides.’

‘He was planning to declare himself ruler of Seven Cities?’

Her jaws worked as she chewed that. ‘What he intended would have reopened old wounds. Terrible old wounds. It would have been a bloodbath. Yusen cut it off at the root. We wouldn’t abandon him so he chose to run — exile.’

‘I see. But now the Enchantress says you can return.’

‘Yes! And so we should! C’mon, talk some sense into the man. You’re good at that.’

Murk eyed the tall fierce woman sidelong. I am? Since when?

*

Ina had wanted to die, of course. That moment when she woke and saw what they had done. She felt no resentment against the mage, or the Enchantress — she understood they had done what they did to save her life. But would she have done the same? She’d heard it was one of the worst ways to go. Eaten alive from the inside out. She would’ve killed herself long before that.

At home there were places for the wounded. Honoured roles for those crippled in fighting: teacher, tutor, guard. Her wound was not gained in such a respectable fashion. Illness, sickness, had no place in her society. The weak were cast out, allowed to perish as they would. She had never given the practice a second thought. It was tradition. The way their forebears taught them. Now, however, she wondered at its fairness. Were the sick or malformed or maimed to be blamed for their affliction? Was it less ‘purification’ than plain intolerance?

She lowered her gaze to the child curled up at her side. She was brave, devoted, good-hearted and innocent. All the human values one would wish, yet wrapped in crippled flesh. Who was anyone to judge her? How dare anyone do so? The very thought affronted her to the core and brought a burning heat to her face. She realized she would kill anyone who dared.

There. That was more like it. Proper Seguleh thinking.

That was how the girl saved her life.

When the Enchantress T’riss came to them Ina had already made up her mind. And the way the sorceress looked at her, the secret smile on her lips, told Ina that she knew as well.

‘So you will stay,’ the Enchantress said.

‘Yes. If I may.’

‘Of course.’ Her gaze lowered to rest gently on the girl. ‘It looks as if you have a place here.’

Movement drew Ina’s attention aside: that giant fellow had returned and now stood among the trees, watching, as if afraid to approach.

‘Lek,’ the Enchantress urged, quietly. ‘Look who is here …’

The girl stirred, blinking. She found the man standing a little way off and her head snapped up. ‘Nagal!’ She ran to him with her limping hopping gait, and wrapped her arms round him. He patted her head.

‘An old friend,’ T’riss explained. ‘You will not be entirely alone here.’

‘Alone or not, there is no other place for us.’

The Enchantress peered round, nodding. ‘Yes. You are lucky, I think. Lucky in what you have found.’

‘And Ardata? What of her?’

The smile slipped away. ‘I want to be generous, but I do not know. It seems that some are incapable of change or learning and because of this the lessons come all the harsher, and perhaps too late. We shall see. I understand that it took a millennium of imprisonment in his own creation for Draconus to admit that perhaps he’d been wrong. So, there is hope.’

‘Then … she is gone?’

T’riss appeared surprised. ‘Not at all. As I have heard said — just because you cannot see her doesn’t mean she isn’t here.’

‘Ah. I see.’ Ina gestured to the burnt prayer-scarves and fragments of offering bowls scattered about the grounds. ‘Then the devout will continue their entreaties and the godhead will remain enigmatic … as is its definition.’

The Enchantress frowned mock disapproval. ‘You Seguleh are a far too sceptical people.’

‘Strange that I should end up here then.’

‘Perhaps you are in need of more philosophy.’ And with that, the Enchantress inclined her head in salute and went her way.

Ina sat for a time letting the sun’s heat suffuse her while she worked on forcing herself to relax. It was difficult; she wasn’t used to it. She glanced over to where Lek and Nagal talked. Lek, she saw, was urging him to come and speak to her. The big fellow actually appeared childishly shy. Strange how she would never have imagined that. Living here … new faces were probably a shock.

Many more will be coming now, though. Once word spreads. And of course they will look for the physical embodiment of what they are searching for. For Lek, daughter of their goddess.

She would have to begin teaching her soon.

* * *

He came in the night amid a burgeoning silver glow that suffused the temple grounds until all was lit as if by a lamp of white light. The youth, Ripan, led the way, piping an eerie and high energetic tune that sounded almost celebratory. Saeng sat waiting on a step. She held Pon-lor’s head cradled on her lap.

Old Man Moon entered the grounds and bowed before Saeng. ‘Congratulations, High Priestess.’

She snorted her embarrassment. ‘High Priestess of what?’

The old man opened his hands. ‘That is for you to shape. You are the priestess.’

She dropped her gaze, nodding. ‘I see.’

‘What would you have of me?’

‘Can you heal him?’

The old man knelt on his skinny shanks, just as any village elder would. He studied Pon-lor. ‘Hmmm. He has sustained ferocious damage to his skull and brain. And there is infection, swelling and fever. Normally such a mind would lie beyond recovery. However, the Thaumaturg mental training has served him well. He has managed to retain much of himself hidden away in disparate corners of his mind — so to speak.’ His gaze rose to her and she was startled to see a silvery glow in the pupils of his eyes. ‘And of course you are lucky in that this happens to be a particular speciality of mine.’

And though she knew the answer already, she asked: ‘What is your price?’

His sly teasing smile told her his answer. He turned his head. ‘Ripan. Start a fire.’

The youth’s shoulders dropped. ‘Must I?’ he whined.

‘A fire, Ripan.’

The youth slouched off, muttering and twirling his pipe.

Moon laid a hand on Pon-lor’s forehead. ‘Rest,’ he murmured. ‘Gather yourself … and remember.’ He sat back, his lean arms akimbo on his knees. ‘Now I shall collect the necessary ingredients.’ He stood.

‘Where … this time?’ Saeng asked, dreading the answer.

Old Man Moon grinned down at her. ‘Why — where you left off, of course.’ He walked off, stiffly, like an elder.

I do believe he enjoys it far too much, she grumbled to herself.

Later, Old Man Moon returned to carry Pon-lor to a square of flat dressed paving stones, all brushed clean of dust and litter. A fire burned nearby. Ripan sat at it, looking bored and unhappy, his chin in one fist. A set of crude earthenware bowls lay next to the fire. Each possessed a stick that might have once been an offering. Indeed, all the objects struck Saeng as having been salvaged from the various nearby temple niches, shrines and altars. She wondered what effect this would have upon the procedure. All to increase its potency, no doubt.

She quickly looked away as Moon unceremoniously pulled at his ragged loin wrap. When he had lain down she looked back, forcing herself to eye his skinny shrunken buttocks — one half tattooed. ‘I am to finish the job, am I?’ she asked dryly.

‘Indeed.’

The glow emanating from the being had changed, inverted itself. Now, as before, the countless bands of pricked-out stars in their constellations glowed with their liquid silvery light while his flesh seemed to absorb light in a black night-dark background. The star field that was his back gently turned before her eyes, mimicking, she knew, the very sky above. She felt that if she pitched forward over him she would fall for ever as if into nothingness.

She shook herself and realized that she had been staring, fascinated. ‘As before?’ she asked.

‘If you would.’ Lying on his stomach, his arms under his chin, he reached out and sketched with a fingertip. The lines he drew glowed with a cold limpid light on the stone. ‘The blue ink, please.’

Saeng nodded and selected the roughly formed earthenware bowl that held a shimmering unearthly blue fluid. It gleamed like the sapphire light of some stars. She picked up a prayer stick, studied its sharpened end, then daubed it in the ink.

Crouching down over him, she set to work.

*

Murk returned to the treetops that night. He found that he now enjoyed sitting high up with his back against a trunk, his legs straight out, ankles crossed, on a fat branch. He watched the bright star field peeping through the intermittent cloud cover and the flashes of lightning from a rainstorm to the north. Bats swooped before his vision, chasing insects. The swollen head of the bright sky-spanning arch that was the Visitor was diminishing — passing beyond. Returning whence it came. The full moon shone down, reclaiming its rightful place as ruler of the night. To the west, the thick dark clouds were dispersing, drifting off. The leaves around him, however, still held their pale layer of ash.

So, it was over. Tomorrow the Enchantress would send them on to wherever they wished. Yusen had held firm in his insistence on a slow cautious approach to this news of imperial pardon. The troop would request to be sent to some minor frontier outpost where they’d test the truth of it.

What, then, of him and Sour? They’d completed their term of service, mustered out. Yet civilian life hadn’t panned out as they’d wished. To tell the truth, he hadn’t felt comfortable sitting around with nothing to do. And this lot was badly in need of someone to hold their hands.

Besides, if what the Enchantress claimed was true, Yusen might be up for some kind of commendation and promotion. He might make sub-Fist in Seven Cities. Cadre mage to a sub-Fist in Aren would be a pretty soft posting.

And he had to admit that he wouldn’t mind getting to know Burastan better. There was something there, he was sure. Unless it was all just wishful thinking …

A gathering deep jade glow interrupted his consideration of strong shapely limbs. He glanced over, frowning, and was surprised to see a wavering image coming into existence here with him.

‘Celeste? That you?’ he asked, astonished.

The image solidified into the familiar shape of the girl and she smiled. ‘Greetings, Murken Warrow.’

‘Celeste? I thought you were gone. You know, melding or uniting, or whichever.’

‘Yes. I am. This is merely one last fading remnant left behind to say goodbye.’

‘Ah. I see. Well … thank you. You sound like you met with success, or satisfaction, or whatever.’

‘Yes. We are all gone now. All my brothers and sisters. Far to the west the Shattered God has been sent onward — allowed to translate into another existence — however you wish to put it. As have I.’

Murk’s brows rose in wonder. Really? Something happening in the west? ‘Well, as I said before, I wish you luck with Ardata.’

The girl tilted her head, puzzled. ‘Ardata?’

‘Yeah. You know — this entity you chose.’

The girl laughed, a hand going to her mouth. ‘Oh, Murk! Not her. She is as nothing next to that which I have reached out to. She would be a trickling stream compared to the ocean I have found here.’

Murk stared, his brows furrowed. An ocean? Here? Whatever could she mean? ‘I’m sorry … I don’t …’

Celeste extended her arms outwards as if to encompass their entire surroundings. ‘I’m sorry, I keep forgetting your human biases and preconceptions. I speak not of any one individual being as you would know it, Murk. I speak of all this. Everything about us. I speak of what you name Himatan itself.’

Murk’s brows now rose in earnest. ‘Oh. Oh … That’s … amazing, Celeste.’

She was nodding her agreement. ‘Amazing, yes. Fascinating. Infinitely absorbing. The complexity. The interrelationships. It will perhaps take a millennium just to fully comprehend one part of it. And in its own way it is aware, Murken. It responds. It takes steps to assure its continued existence. It is an entity in those regards — no different from any lower-order being, such as yourself.’

Lower-order being? ‘Ah, well, I see. I think. Then, you are not gone? Not faded away?’

A soft smile answered that question. ‘No, Murken. Thank you for your concern. No. It was your advice that saved me. Your encouragement gave me the strength to take that irreversible step before the greater part of myself was sent onward — towards dissipation, or who knows what. I remain now as part of that which you name Himatan. Thanks to you.’ She clasped her hands before her and bowed. ‘So, farewell, Murken Warrow. May you find acceptance and belonging, as I have.’

Murk bowed his head in answer as Celeste’s presence faded from view.

He returned his gaze to the infinite night sky. Acceptance and belonging. Some, he knew, would sneer at such sentiment. Yet humans were social beings. Perhaps it was these simple qualities that everyone sought, though they masked them with other, loftier sounding names: ambition, domination or glory.

Acceptance and belonging. He decided then that he’d tag along with Yusen’s crew. They could use a cadre mage. And if he was going, chances were Sour would follow. He’s come along, that fellow. Shown some real potential. He just better not start getting any ideas about who’s in charge, that’s all.

*

The Crimson Guard camped together, Avowed and Disavowed — though Disavowed no longer. From where she sat on a root Shimmer scanned the crowd. Crowd. Who would have thought I could ever use that word again regarding the Avowed? Yet crowd it seemed to her: she had become used to gatherings of mere handfuls.

For some, she knew, this change in circumstances would be harder than for others. Her gaze found fierce Mara sitting aside, alone, hugging herself. She had given much to Skinner, Shimmer knew. And now he was gone. Though she knew she would see him again among the Brethren, should he ever choose to come to the living. She scanned the group and found the broad towering figure of Petal sitting at one fire. She caught his gaze and directed it to Mara. He pursed his heavy lips thoughtfully, then rose, smoothed his torn and frayed robes down his wide front, and crossed to sit next to her.

She now searched for K’azz. She saw him nowhere and she threw herself to her feet. Damn the fool! The very night he ought to be among us! Our first evening together. Where is he? I have a few words for him! She set off to track him down.

After searching among the woods she found him standing alone, arms crossed, peering up at the clear night sky. It was a cold night and she’d been shivering. Somewhere, a hunting cat roared.

‘K’azz!’ she called sharply.

He turned, looking rather bemused. ‘Yes? You are upset?’

‘Yes, I’m upset! Here you are off alone. You should be with us. You should be reassuring everyone with your presence.’

He turned away, his gaze falling. ‘Shimmer, I am not blind. My presence is far from reassuring. I can see that I make everyone uncomfortable … even you. And I understand.’

Oh, K’azz!

She spoke, surprising herself with the strength of the emotion in her voice: ‘You are still our commander. We still follow. We still need you.’ She closed one hesitant step. ‘K’azz … something is worrying you. Something you know. Some secret. What is it? Tell me. Share it. We will all carry it with you.’

For some reason, that only made him flinch as if pained. He would not meet her entreating gaze. ‘No. It is something I suspect … nothing more. It mustn’t be spoken of. Not yet.’

‘But in Assail …’

He let out a long tormented breath. ‘Yes. Assail. Of all places. Assail.’

‘I heard the Enchantress. The answer lies there.’

‘If it can be found, yes.’

‘I heard Cowl. He claims to know.’

K’azz gave a sad shake of his head. ‘Shimmer … I doubt the man’s sanity. He thinks he knows. And perhaps he has grasped some strange idea — the gods alone know what it might be.’

She crossed her arms, raised her gaze to the stars. At least he is talking now. Perhaps I may persuade him to return. She indicated the night sky. ‘Whenever I look up I feel so alone and so small. I like the idea of each light up there being a campfire. It makes me feel … part of a tribe.’

‘You are part of a tribe, Shimmer,’ he answered.

She slid her eyes aside to see him also peering up. ‘Yes. Our tribe. The Guard. Will you not rejoin it?’

The muscles on his jaw bunched as he clamped his teeth. He dropped his gaze to her. ‘A good try, Shimmer.’

‘Not a try. A timely reminder.’ She motioned to the camp. ‘Now, return with me. Yes?’ Now or never, Shimmer lass. She took a step, inviting him to fall in with her. ‘You have seen Petal, yes?’ She glanced back to him expectantly.

A half-smile climbed his lips and he took one slow step. ‘Yes …’ he answered, guardedly.

‘I do believe he is even bigger than when he left us.’

The smile climbed even higher. ‘I do not see how, given that everyone else has lost weight here in this damned jungle.’

Shimmer continued her slow walking pace. ‘Even so. It always amused me. Whenever we met some hulking swordsman who was too full of himself we would introduce him to Petal — the largest man alive and a crushingly shy mage to boot.’

K’azz smiled in remembrance.

‘He and Mara seem to be getting along now.’

‘No!’ K’azz stepped up even with her. ‘But she was so scornful of him. It made me wince. I worked to keep them apart. I knew why she joined with Skinner, of course. But I could never understand why he did.’ He shook his head. ‘That was always a mystery to me.’

Now Shimmer shook her head as she walked along back to camp. ‘K’azz …’ she sighed. ‘You need to mix more.’