Fall of Light

TWENTY-THREE

‘Shall we find amorous bliss only among the dead?’ Lasa Rook asked. ‘Rolling among the flopping limbs so cadaverous and cold, our heat of passion a thing stolen by insensate flesh, to be wasted in the manner of the sun’s heat on a stone?’ The Thel Akai raised her ample arms. ‘The day’s death is but prelude, Hanako of the Scars, a reminder repeated all too often – each night, in fact, as if our souls needed such ominous stirring!’ Her gaze, settling upon him where he sat by the ring of rocks that encircled their modest cookfire, turned suddenly sly. ‘I see your flitting regard, eager cub, upon these breasts of mine, and the lure of my cocked hip with its inviting swell. Death’s threshold awaits us, closer now. On the morrow we shall see for ourselves this modest encampment of the desolate and the despondent, and if you’d an audience to our inaugural rutting, why, a more embittered mob you could not find.’

Sighing, Hanako glanced across to where Erelan Kreed crouched, his unending mutter of words rising and falling to unknown passions, a mélange of languages most of which were utterly foreign to both Hanako and Lasa Rook. He had awakened two nights past, fretful and distracted. Erelan Kreed was, as the Jaghut Raest had predicted, now a stranger, a warrior lost to hidden worlds and memories not his own.

Kreed was turned away from them and the fire, his broad back like a wall blocking the light from his hooded eyes, his tortured face. He rhythmically worked one hand through his beard, pausing every now and then to loose a low, chilling laugh.

‘Never mind him,’ said Lasa Rook. ‘I grow irritated at your lack of attention, Hanako of the Scars. Must I peel away all constraint?’ She began untying the strings of her shirt. ‘So readily exposed in mute invitation’ – the shirt slipped from her shoulders to fall to the ground – ‘these swollen needs, the appurtenances of sensual appetites-’

‘Lady of the Fire, Lasa! Your husbands-’

‘My husbands! Mouldering in the rock-pile! Torn limb from limb from limb! Decayed of countenance, never more to weakly smile or flinch or cringe! From crow-picked tongues, never again a mewled whimper or pathetic beseechment! Ah, the empty echo in my ears! And you, bold young warrior! See how I lick my lips – no, not those lips, fool – and come closer, before death sweeps down upon us with all the senseless weight of boulders and gritty dust!’

Hanako clutched the sides of his head. ‘Enough! What glory is there in such ready surrender?’ As soon as the words left him, he bit down, but too late.

Lasa Rook’s gasp trailed away, leaving nothing but silence, although as he glared at the fire he heard her collecting up her shirt. Then she spoke. ‘This path of mine proves in error, then. Oh, my foolish ways now turn about to let loose the most vicious snarl. The pup at bay, cock limp and awaiting the tree, modest claws readied for scratching the earth, a scent piddled here, a proud strut there. Foolish Lasa Rook, were you blind? This one seeks to do the seducing! Not for him the come hither! No! As the Lord of Temper told you plain as day, this one requires the conquest!’

Hanako moaned and said nothing.

The laugh that came from Erelan Kreed at that moment was appalling in its cruelty, and then the warrior spoke to them both for the first time since consciousness returned. ‘My sister hunts me. There is no refuge. We must traverse the night, children of Kilmandaros. The bitch wants my seed and will take it from this Thel Akai corpse if necessary. Into the timeless realm for us, then, and best we be quick about it.’

Straightening, Hanako took a step towards Erelan Kreed. ‘Who speaks with your tongue, Erelan?’

‘Blood is memory, child. Need is immortal. Above all, vengeance never dies, never fades and never grows cold. In my heart there burns refusal, a fire nothing can quench. Refusal and defiance, such wildness in these two sentiments, such pure … horror.’ He bared his teeth at them. ‘Only among the Jaghut will she hesitate.’

When it was clear that he would say nothing more, Hanako turned to Lasa Rook, met her flat, sober eyes. ‘I believe,’ he said, ‘we should hurry.’

She tilted her head back to regard him with level eyes. ‘To you, Hanako of the Scars, I am now closed. Sting at my indifference, see me turn away again and again. A wall around me I shall raise, even in the realm of the dead, with corpses stacked high. I am the widow’s trap, forever closed, forever sealed away-’

‘Lasa Rook, I was speaking of resuming our journey.’

‘-and your hunger for me shall grow, a poison in your soul-’

‘There is a dragon hunting us! ’

She blinked. ‘I heard him,’ she said in a low tone. ‘His sister wants his seed. How peculiar! What sister would ever desire a brother’s seed? Lifelong proximity alone would incite such levels of revulsion as to spew out a veritable ocean of disgust and derision! Why, if I think of my own brothers in such light, all that lives within me curdles and puckers, a flinching retreat so sour I feel the need to spit.’ She looked over at Erelan Kreed. ‘On your feet then, bold warrior, dragon-blooded. Lasa Rook and Hanako of the Scars shall stand in defence of your dignity!’

‘Lasa, a dragon!’

She waved dismissively. ‘They die too, pup, as we well know.’

‘Let us simply hasten, Lasa Rook,’ Hanako said, collecting up his gear. ‘Into the protection of the Jaghut.’

‘I shall lead,’ she pronounced. ‘You may watch me from behind, Hanako, pining for all that you shall never possess. Draw not too near, either! I have claws and fangs at the ready!’ She set out then, and a moment later Erelan Kreed straightened and fell in behind her.

Hanako looked down at the fire. It took only a few moments to stamp out its flames, and then he set off after them.

Twenty paces in, Lasa Rook glanced back over her shoulder and winked. ‘Alas, the truth wins free! I shall crumble at your first touch, young pup!’

Hanako hesitated, and then with a half-snarl he threw down his pack. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘Erelan Kreed, do go on and mayhap the dragon will find us first, if only to feed. We will catch up with you anon.’

Brows lifting, Lasa Rook walked back towards Hanako. ‘Truly? Oh, now I am come over all shy!’

He stared at her, wanting to scream.

* * *

Korya Delath found Haut gathered with a dozen or so of his compatriots, Varandas, Senad and Burrugast among them. The Jaghut had been laughing but their amusement fell away, quickly hidden like a private thing, when she strode among them.

Seeing her, Haut straightened. He muttered something low to the Jaghut woman, Senad, and then gestured. ‘Mahybe, we must talk. There are tasks awaiting you-’

‘Why should any of that matter to you, Haut?’ Korya asked, her glare shifting to encompass all the Jaghut present. ‘You’re all about to die. What do the dead care for the woes of the living?’ She pointed at her old master. ‘You once told me that there were things we were going to do. The two of us, to answer for the Azathanai’s murder of Hood’s wife. What has come of that?’

Haut’s expression twisted slightly, and it seemed to Korya that he almost ducked to unseen blows. Seated beside him, Senad laughed low and knowingly, meeting Korya’s cold regard with weary amusement.

Burrugast growled under his breath and then said, ‘So much to atone, so little time.’

Snorting, Varandas moved to Haut’s side and settled a hand on the captain’s shoulder. ‘Out of the mouth of babes, a veritable torrent of nonsense. Grief is a fist, but to hold it too long is to feel all strength drain from it. So brutally aged by loss and despair, you would shake it still, with palsied fury. Drag her aside, friend, and make quick and clean the cut.’

Korya fixed her attention on Varandas, studied his lean, scarred face. ‘You tell yourselves that I don’t understand. But I do. You’re all giving up. Clothe it in silks if you like, or, more accurately, a jester’s mocking attire. It doesn’t matter.’

Varandas’s nod was solemn. ‘Well enough, Korya. I am a fool but not a blind one. We are indeed a legion of despair, and here we stand with a gaping chasm between us and you. Age is a siege you have not yet experienced. Your bones remain strong, your foundations not yet undermined. The towers of belief you have raised in yourself still stand tall and proud. Certainty’s armour remains untarnished, undented.’

Burrugast added, ‘Haut spoke from a place of wounding. It was but the last of many.’

After a long moment, Haut sighed and then gestured for Korya to follow him.

They walked to the encampment’s edge, looked out eastward over the deep night’s level plain, where the stars pricked the darkness with a strange, dull light. The moon had crept into the sky just before sunset and though half the night had passed, still it clung to the horizon, swollen and the hue of copper.

‘What is happening?’ she whispered. ‘The stars …’

‘In the last days of life,’ Haut said, ‘there comes to the dying soul a single, long night. For most, it passes locked in step with the world, and come the dawn, the sleeping face is preternaturally still. Rarely does such a night impose itself on others. It is a private thing, a stretched expanse, a realm of dying wind and laboured breath.’ He faced her in sorrow. ‘Hood has invoked the Long Night, to open to our souls the passage into death. Now, this night, the stars do not sparkle, the moon does not rise. Tell me, when did you last draw breath? Blink? Whence the next beat of your heart?’

She stared at him in growing horror. ‘The gate has opened.’

‘Yes. How long shall this night be? None knows, perhaps not even Hood.’

‘This is monstrous …’

Haut rubbed at his lined face, looking old and worn out. ‘He has stopped time. Stolen life’s necessary rush, the rolling needs that burn with defiance. In all realms, life wills itself into being, plunging ever forward in the name of order, outracing the chaos of dissolution.’

She shook her head, half in disbelief, half in terror. ‘But … how vast is this … this end of time?’

‘For now, the encampment,’ Haut replied. ‘But there are ripples, unseen by us mortals, and they spread far and wide. Stirring, agitating, awakening. I would imagine,’ he mused, ‘the dead themselves now hearken to this challenge.’ He settled a hand on the old sword at his belt. ‘It seems we shall have our war after all.’

‘All this, Haut? For the grief of one slain woman?’ She stepped back from him, and then faced the plains once more. Stared at the motionless, lifeless night sky. He speaks true. No breath to draw barring those needed for words. My heart … I hear nothing, not even the swish of blood in the veins. ‘Hood used the magic,’ she suddenly announced. ‘All that the one you name K’rul has given to the world. He’s taken it all inside.’

‘Stilled every fire,’ Haut said. ‘Nothing burns. The exhalation of heat, the very vigour of life, all stopped. As within, so without. But then, is this not what death is? Stepping out from time’s incessant flow? Slipping from sight?’ He sighed, and then shrugged. ‘We are in the Long Night, we who choose to follow him. But you, Korya, here you do not belong.’

‘And I’m to knock Arathan unconscious and drag him away from here?’

‘Gothos holds at bay Hood’s … imposition. He creates a refuge, signified by his Folly, his unending tome, his eternal narrative. To defy the death of time, he would tell a story.’

‘His story.’

‘It may be his,’ Haut agreed. ‘Indeed, it may be precisely what he says it is. A suicide note, a confessional to failure. And yet, do you see this subtle defiance? While the tale continues, there can be no surrender to despair.’

‘No,’ she snapped, ‘of course not. The lord has his hate, after all.’

‘Burning hot as the sun, yes.’

‘Does his hate include Hood?’

‘Hood? Abyss take me, no. He loves the man as only a brother can.’

‘Yet, a brother not.’

Haut shrugged. ‘And now Gethol, returned from something worse than death. A prison we all thought was eternal. Sometimes the deeds of the past, Korya, lead to a place where no words are possible. And yet, does not the love remain? Thus, the three of them, one the spark of hate, one the sigh of grief, and one – well, one stands between the two.’

‘Will Gethol join Hood, then?’

‘I would think not, but all of that is between them. When I spoke of Gothos’s refuge, I meant to say that Arathan is protected.’

‘What of me?’

‘You are a Mahybe, Korya, a vessel formed to contain. By this alone, death cannot reach you.’

She grunted. ‘Oh, you’ve made me immortal, have you?’ When he said nothing, she slowly turned from the dead night sky above the plain. ‘Haut?’

‘Hold on to your potential,’ he said, ‘for as long as you can. There’s enough room inside you for a dozen lifetimes, maybe more. That’s down to your resilience and your cleverness.’

‘To what end?’

‘One day, the Azathanai Errastas will seek domination over the sorcery now suffusing this realm. And he will make it a thing of spilled blood, and should he succeed, magic will prove the cruellest gift of all.’

‘You would set me against an Azathanai?’

Haut offered her a wry smile. ‘Already I pity him.’

* * *

‘What took so long?’ Lasa Rook moaned plaintively, pulling sweaty strands of blonde hair from her face. ‘Look upon the beasts, O Lord of Duration, and see how the quick and the fierce suffices. By the tumbled rock-pile, Hanako, you have worn me out!’

He sat up, blinking, his twin hearts only now slowing their savage syncopation. He squinted into the north.

Lasa Rook continued, ‘Was it worth the wait? Does my bruised flower answer? No. Instead, the mumble below continues, tremors of the flesh and the spirit trembling like a startled fawn in the night. Oh, dear pup, you have dragged the moon to the ground! You have spun the stars with such abandon as to shatter the wheel! The body reels, the earth shudders. Now look upon me in the days to come and see the knowing glint in my eye, the sly knowledge of our terrible secret-’

‘Not so secret,’ Hanako said.

She sat up, her hair full of twigs and grass blades, and twisted round. ‘Hanako! We are attended by three hoary ghosts! Aaii! They stagger in the manner of revenants, with crumpled visages and eyes withered like dusty dates!’

‘Your husbands,’ Hanako said, ‘drawn to us, no doubt, by your shrieks.’ He lumbered to his feet. ‘Apologies dry upon my tongue. Shame and remorse chill my hearts, and in the face of righteous challenge, I shall raise no blade to defend myself.’

‘Oh,’ Lasa Rook said, squinting. ‘They are not dead then?’

‘No, only exhausted, it seems. Worn out by this deadly pursuit, and now here, their worst fears realized.’

She climbed to her feet, still naked, and brushed the dust from her arms, and then her breasts. ‘You have licked off all my sweet scents, Hanako. This puts me at a disadvantage. Say nothing. Leave this to me. They are my husbands, after all.’

Groaning under his breath, Hanako swung round to the south. The night sky above that horizon looked peculiar. ‘You promised that we would defend Erelan Kreed, and yet here we are. My lust, Lasa Rook, has broken our vow. Now he walks alone. For all we know, the dragon has already found him.’

‘Oh, enough of that nonsense, Hanako! See these dejected, broken men, my pets all bedraggled and forlorn. Are these the faces lighting with love and delight? Halt the world, my husbands have found me! Caught naked and lathered, flushed and sated beyond all measure! By my crime I have belittled them all! What recompense is possible? What price forgiveness?’

The three men drew closer and then stopped with a dozen paces between them and Lasa Rook, who stood facing them, brazen and tall.

After a long, tense moment, the eldest of them pointed at Hanako though his gaze remained fixed on his wife. His mouth worked soundlessly for a time, and then, in a strangled voice, he said, ‘You never once slashed any of us to bloody ribbons!’

Lasa Rook shot a look at Hanako, her brows raised. ‘Oh,’ she said as she turned back to her husbands, ‘that.’ She shrugged. ‘Many are the beasts lying in the grasses, each a habit unto itself. Some will ambush. Others yawn and doze till comes the night, when all manner of savagery is unleashed. Yet others flick their tails, watchful and opportunistic. I am a woman of appetites and curiosity, Garelko.’

‘But … another husband? How many do you need?’ Garelko pulled at his thin hair. ‘Oh, it’s never enough with you, Lasa Rook! No, you need to hunt down the finest warrior of all the mountain tribes! Slayer of more Thelomen than any of us can count!’ He pointed a shaking finger at Hanako. ‘And … you! You!’

‘Oh, be quiet – and you, Tathenal, not a word! Same for you, Ravast! I thought you all dead! Dragon-slain! Devoured, digested, shat out!’ Hands now on her hips, she shook her head and continued in a lower tone, ‘I grew doubtful of the three of you. How deep your love for me? In our home, ah, I caught a sniff of complacency.’

‘Complacency?’

‘Yes, Garelko! Was it mere contentment? Or love’s sordid decay? A challenge was needed. So I set out, on the slithery tail of a Jaghut’s raging grief. Would my husbands dare follow? Would they even notice my absence?’

Garelko pointed again at Hanako. ‘And this one? Was he too a test?’

‘Oh, who knows what set him on this trail. Such a young brave already weary of mundane challenges! But against that which cannot be defeated, ah, now there is a fate worthy of legend! Or,’ she added with a sigh, ‘some such thing.’

‘We heard your screams!’ Ravast suddenly blurted.

‘As you were meant to, were you indeed still alive – and what surer siren could I devise to bring you running?’ She waved a careless hand back towards Hanako. ‘Oh, he was fun I’ll grant you, a beast indeed, to now challenge your inventiveness in all the years of delight still to come!’

‘You’ll not stay with him?’ Garelko asked. ‘You’ll not claim him as another husband?’

‘Three are chore enough,’ she replied. ‘Besides, heed his destination! Do I seem a woman tired of life? Still, was not this journey an exciting one?’

Sourly, Tathenal said, ‘Dams have broken, wife, and now unseen rivers of wild thought devour the ground beneath us all. None are as we once were. Not even you. I see in Hanako’s eyes a renewed resolve. He will indeed march with that dread legion, and I will walk at his side. We have new enemies within each of us now, challenges to our sense of who we truly are, and these, my love, must be answered.’

When Tathenal moved forward to take his position at Hanako’s side, Lasa Rook’s eyes followed with raw dismay.

‘Oh my,’ she breathed. And her gaze snapped back round when Ravast spoke.

‘Beloved wife,’ the young warrior said, ‘I will take the measure of this grieving Jaghut, and upon the threshold of a choice that cannot be unmade, only then will I decide my path.’

Garelko’s expression was suddenly ravaged. ‘Now, Lasa Rook,’ he said in a broken rasp, ‘see what you have done?’

‘Oh I see,’ she retorted, crossing her arms. ‘Clever punishment! Listen well, the three of you! I will accompany you to the Jaghut’s silly camp, where you can well contemplate joining the ragged mob that has fallen for his madness! But I shall not cross the threshold, even if you would all leave me a widow in truth! I am young still and the villages are bursting with handsome men, some of whom are even useful!’ She paused, and then resumed, ‘So contemplate well my lively future, husbands, and of troubled waters beneath the ground, consider most soberly their paltry gifts. From beyond the Harrowed Gate, husbands, you might well hear my lustful cries challenge the world itself!’

When she swung round to face Hanako, he saw the fierceness of her gaze, and was shaken. Turning to Tathenal, he said, ‘Go back with her, sir. The three of you, drag this woman home, bound and gagged if you must.’

‘The pup rejects me? After one tussle in the grass?’

He frowned at her. ‘You misunderstand, Lasa Rook. I am come to love you, but you burn too hot for me, and this fire in you is the raging glory of life, not death. Should you march down to the Jaghut … I fear a moment of fury, and a choice that cannot be unmade. Not for one such as you the realm of death, and so I beg you – I beg you all – go home.’ He swung his gaze south. ‘If I hurry, I will catch Erelan Kreed, and so guard his flank.’

Lasa Rook hissed, ‘You’re not actually contemplating joining those fools, are you? Was this not simply a lark? A cheerful cavort in the manner of spectators witnessing a mummery of absurdity? Hanako of the Scars, you are too young for the rock-pile!’

He shook his head. ‘I have my reasons, Lasa Rook, and they shall remain mine, forever unspoken, yet no less indurate. And now there is Erelan Kreed, whom I will not abandon. What glory is found in turning aside? What truth can be revealed unless one indeed walks through the gate? No, I will find what I seek.’

She now glared at the four of them. ‘You … you men!’

When Hanako set out, the others fell in behind him. He heard a sharp low cry from Garelko and turned to see Lasa Rook gripping his right ear as she hissed, ‘Convince these idiots, old man, or you’ll rue your failure!’

‘I’ll try! I swear it!’

Setting his gaze southward again, Hanako hurried on. ‘Forgive me my pace,’ he called out. ‘Find your own to suit – it matters not.’

‘What do you mean, Hanako?’ Tathenal asked.

In reply, Hanako pointed ahead. ‘See the sky? There, my friends, the world holds its breath.’

He heard their soft exclamations and low muttering, as yet another argument erupted between Lasa Rook and her husbands.

Hanako was glad of the lovemaking. That had been a fire in need of dousing. Now his mind felt clear, his resolve harsh and bold with new resilience.

Death, I will face you at last. Unblinking, I will face that which all who are said to be heroic must face. And I will have my answer.

But I am no fool. Lord of the Rock-Piles, I’ll not deny you. Each time, you win in the end. Indeed, you never lose. And so I will ask you, O Lord of Death, what worth the victory … in such a crooked game?

* * *

Gethol’s mottled face bore an expression of old pain and suffering that Arathan suspected was permanent. Five centuries buried beneath the earth, bound in roots, must have taken such a toll that he wondered how the Jaghut remained sane. Assuming sanity was ever there in the first place. These are Jaghut, after all.

Gethol was staring at Arathan with a strangely remote contemplation, as if in studying the young black-skinned Tiste Andii, he was in fact looking through to something else. The uncanny regard unnerved Arathan, but he was not prepared to reveal that to this brother of Gothos. He stared back.

After the passage of some time, Gothos glanced up from his desk and said, ‘Is this really necessary?’

Gethol frowned and then, with a shrug, he looked away. ‘This charge of yours. This bastard son of Draconus.’

‘Yes, what of him?’

‘Yes,’ Arathan added, ‘what of me?’

Grunting, Gethol said, ‘Some things are better left unsaid, I suppose.’

Gothos set his stylus down. ‘I imagine you said very little for a rather long time, Gethol.’

‘This is true.’

‘All those useless words.’

‘Spake the writer leaning over his tome.’

‘If I presume in error, brother, do enlighten me.’

Gethol lifted a gnarled hand and eyed it speculatively. ‘My talons need trimming. Still, I am thankful I possessed them, although I expect the Seregahl I dragged into my place might venture a different opinion.’

‘Were your eyes open?’ Gothos asked.

‘No, of course not. That would sting, and besides, there is very little to see. Consider the interred, the buried man, be he in sandy soil or sodden peat. Note the closed eyes, the peaceful expression, the firm set of the mouth.’

‘Like that, then.’

‘No,’ Gethol replied, ‘nothing like that. Most buried people are dead, after all. Death seems to insist upon a solemn mien. Then again, in choosing an eternal expression, I imagine peaceful is preferable to, say, the rictus of terror.’

‘And yours, brother?’

‘Oh, I would suggest … disappointment?’

Gothos sighed and rubbed at his face with ink-stained fingers. ‘We all volunteered, Gethol. It was just ill-luck that-’

‘My fateful misstep, yes. It was, perhaps, more a case of my unexpected downturn in fortune. One does not rise in the morning, say, considering ending the day in black soil and bound by the roots of a tree, or, for that matter, being imprisoned for five centuries.’

‘Yes, that does seem unlikely,’ Gothos replied. ‘Still, the contemplation of what the fates hold in store must surely accompany each morning’s greeting.’

‘You always were the one obsessed with solemn contemplation, brother, not me.’

‘I deem it a measure of intellect.’

‘A failure I am proud to acknowledge,’ Gethol replied, baring his blackened tusks.

‘Hence the misstep.’

The grin fell away.

‘It is invariably those lacking in intellect,’ Gothos expounded, ‘who unceasingly rue their misfortune. The curse of the witless is to beat one’s head against the obstinate wall of how things really are, rather than what they insist upon their being. Thud, thud, thud. I envisage indeed an expression of dull disappointment, year upon year, century upon century.’

‘I blame Hood,’ Gethol growled.

‘Of course you do.’

The brothers nodded in unison, and then fell silent.

Arathan leaned back in his chair, looking at each one in turn. He crossed his arms. ‘You two are ridiculous,’ he said. ‘I believe the time has come to take my leave of you. Gothos, my gratitude for your … forbearance. The food, drink and the work you had me do. While I gather you and Haut have decided on where I am to go now, I humbly point out that I am of an age to make my own decisions. And I will now walk to Hood’s side, there to await the opening of the gate.’

‘Alas,’ Gothos said, ‘we cannot permit that. You made yourself a gift to me, after all, on behalf of your father. I don’t recall relinquishing my possession of that gift. Gethol?’

Gethol returned to eyeing Arathan speculatively. ‘I have only just arrived, but you’ve made no mention of anything like that.’

‘Just so. As for Haut, Arathan, bear in mind that young Korya Delath, who must now return to Kurald Galain, will be without a protector.’

‘So find someone else,’ Arathan snapped. ‘Why not Gethol here? It’s not as though he has anything to do.’

‘Curiously,’ mused Gethol, ‘I am of a mind to do just that. Accompany you and Korya, that is.’

‘Then she has an escort and you two don’t need me tagging along! Besides, Father sent me here to be beyond the reach of his rivals in the court of the Citadel.’

Gothos cleared his throat. ‘Yes, about that.’

‘You have heard something?’ Arathan sat forward. ‘How? You’ve never left this damned chamber!’

‘Perturbations in the ether,’ Gothos said, frowning.

‘Perturbations in the what?’

The frown deepened at Arathan’s incredulity.

Gethol snorted.

Sighing, Gothos said, ‘A Forulkan traveller arrived in Hood’s camp yesterday. A delightfully dour female named Doubt. She spoke of events to the east.’

‘What kind of events?’

‘Oh, let me not imply that they have already occurred. Rather, a path has been set upon that has but one destination.’ He blew out his breath. ‘In keeping with my unassailable observations on the inherent self-destructiveness of civilization-’

‘Not again,’ Gethol groaned as he climbed to his feet. ‘Now at last we come to the reason why I dived beneath that tree in the house’s yard – the only escape left to me. I believe I will pay one last visit to Hood, if only to partake in the joy of stinging awake his shame.’ He eyed Arathan. ‘You may join me there, assuming you survive the imminent monologue.’ He strode from the chamber.

‘Milord,’ said Arathan to Gothos, ‘spare me the lecture, if you please. I would know the details of what has happened, or is about to happen.’

‘Well, that is just it, young Arathan. By the time you and Korya return to Kurald Galain, the smoke will have cleared as it were. The dust settled, the mass burial trenches filled in, and so on and so forth. From this it is probably safe to assume the ousting of your father. Indeed, I would be surprised to find him anywhere in that realm.’

‘Then, what will I be returning to?’

‘Ashes and ruin,’ Gothos replied, with a satisfied smile.

* * *

‘I advise against this,’ Korya said, studying the Azath House with its freshly mangled, sapling-crowded yard. ‘The guardian is a ghost, and a miserable one at that. Truly, Ifayle, nothing of wisdom will come from that thing.’

‘And yet,’ said the Dog-Runner, ‘he was once of my kind.’

She sighed. ‘Yes, as I told you.’

‘Then I would speak with him.’

‘The house may not let us in. It’s stronger now … more potent. Can you not feel it?’

He glanced at her with his startling blue eyes. ‘I am not a Bonecaster. My sensitivities lie elsewhere.’ His attention sharpened on her. ‘Mahybe. Vessel. Yes, I see that you share something with this house.’

‘What?’

‘A similarity of purpose, perhaps.’ Abruptly he turned about to stare northward with narrowed intent. ‘My grieving kin are on the move.’

‘How – how do you know that?’

Shrugging, he said, ‘It is near time, isn’t it?’

Korya hesitated, unable to meet his gaze when at last he faced her again.

‘Ah,’ he said softly, ‘you wanted to get me away.’

‘Where they’re going is not for you,’ she said. ‘Now, will you speak with Cadig Aval or not? We’ve come all this way, after all.’

When she walked through the yard’s gate and on to the winding pathway, Ifayle followed.

‘You have a devious mind, Korya Delath. But you misapprehended. I am but an escort, a keeper of sorts. My mother forbade me to enter the realm of death.’

‘When did she do that?’

‘Not long ago. Her pronouncement upset me, but I understand. Grief cannot be borrowed. And yet, with her soon gone from me, it seems that I will come to know my own grief. It is, I think, like a flower passed from one to the next, generation upon generation. A solemn hue, a poignant scent that stings the eyes.’

They stood before the door. Korya nodded and said, ‘It seemed too easy, persuading you to come with me.’

‘Mother knew you for a sly one,’ Ifayle said, with a sad smile. ‘We have made our parting. I do not expect to see her again.’

‘Come with me,’ she suddenly offered, her breath catching as the notion took hold in her mind. ‘Come with us, me and Arathan, to Kurald Galain!’

He frowned. ‘And what awaits me there?’

‘No idea. Does it matter?’

‘My people-’

‘Will still be there, whenever you decide it’s time to go home.’ If you decide to go home at all, that is, she silently added. After all, with you along, fair Ifayle, I can take my time deciding.

‘I have seen this Arathan,’ Ifayle said musingly, ‘but we have not spoken. Indeed, it seems he deliberately avoids me.’

‘Haut says he is to be my protector,’ Korya said, ‘but to be honest, it’s probably the other way round. He’s led a sheltered life, has seen and experienced little. I see little future for Arathan, to be honest. It may be that our family will have to take him in.’ She sighed. ‘Your company on the journey, Ifayle, would be most welcome. Indeed, a relief.’

‘I will consider it,’ he said after a moment.

Heart thudding, Korya quickly nodded, and then reached for the door’s handle.

It opened to her.

‘He knows we’re here,’ she whispered.

‘Good,’ Ifayle replied, stepping past her and entering the Azath House.

She followed.

As before, the narrow alcove was dimly lit by some unknown source of light, the air cool and dry. The stone wall opposite glistened with something like frost, and an instant later the apparition of the long-dead Bonecaster stepped out from the roughly cut wall.

Before it, Ifayle bowed. ‘Ancient one, I am Ifayle, of the-’

The voice that cut him off was dry and weary. ‘Some tribe, yes, from some plain, or forest, or crag, or perhaps a shoreline, a cave set high above the crashing waves. Where one year blends seamlessly into the next, the sun rising each morning like a new breath, settling each night like a hint of death.’ The ghost of Cadig Aval waved an ethereal hand. ‘From this, to that. Will it ever end? The food is plentiful, the hunt dangerous but fruitful and, of course, exciting. Strangers pass in the distance, revealing new ways of living, but what matter any of that? Still, the winters grow colder, the winds from the north harsher. There are times of hunger, when the animals do not come, or the sea retreats and the bounteous tidal pools disappear. And those strangers, well, more and more of them appear. It seems they breed like maggots. In the meantime, distant kin fall silent, and you sense their absence. Many have left the mortal earth, never to return. A few others now walk among the strangers, who shock the world with mercy. Blood thins. They lose the ways of the earth and the threads of the Sleeping Goddess. They lose the power to see the magic in the hearth-fires. Everything dwindles. You rise one morning and look at your cave, your precious home, and see only its poverty, its exhaustion, and the pale, dirty faces of the few children left to you shatter your heart, because the end is nigh. And then-’

‘Oh for crying out loud!’ Korya snapped. ‘Why don’t you just give him the knife to slash open his own throat!’

Cadig Aval fell silent.

Turning to Ifayle, Korya said, ‘I tried to warn you. He has nothing of worth to say to the living.’

‘Not true,’ the guardian said. ‘To my mortal kin here, I will speak words of dread import. Ifayle, son of whomever, from this tribe or that, dweller of cave or forest or plain, the fate I described will never come to you. The Dog-Runners shall not vanish from the world. When the tyrants come among you, the Strangers in Hiding, look to the dreaming of the Sleeping Goddess. Within, a secret hides.’

When he paused, Ifayle tilted his head. ‘Ancient one?’

Korya crossed her arms. ‘He’s just making the most of the moment,’ she said. ‘After all, he’ll have scant few of these.’

Cadig Aval said, ‘Sadly, the truth of your words, Tiste maiden, is like a knife-thrust into my soul. Then again, I already weary of discourse, and long for the interminable silence of my unending solitude. Thus, the secret. Ifayle, at the core of a dream there is something that cannot be broken. Indeed, it is deathless. Reach into this core, Dog-Runner, to seek the makings of a ritual. Call as well upon Olar Ethil, seeking the spark of Telas – the Eternal Flame – to enliven what remains of you.’ This time, the ghost’s pause was much briefer. ‘But be warned. The deathless gift of the Sleeping Goddess’s dream will end your own dreams. The future loses all relevance and so is made powerless. In escaping death, you must all die, sustained by naught but the spark of Telas.’

Something trembled through Korya and she shivered. ‘Ifayle,’ she said in a low whisper, ‘none of that sounds good.’

‘No,’ Cadig Aval said to her, ‘you are correct, Tiste. A terrible fate awaits Ifayle and his people.’

‘Besides,’ she said, ‘I don’t believe in prophecy.’

‘You are wise,’ the guardian replied. ‘Blame Hood. Time has ceased. Past, present and future are, here and in this frozen instant, all one. Those of us of sufficient power can make use of this, reaching far with our vision. Oh, and it helps being dead, too.’

Ifayle bowed before the guardian. ‘I will remember your words, ancient one.’

‘Stop that. I’m not that ancient, you know. Not really. Not in the vast scheme of things. As old as a world? The lifeline of a star? Understand: we exist for the sole purpose of being witness to existence. This and this alone is our collective contribution to all that has been created. We serve to bring existence into being. Without eyes to see, nothing exists.’

‘Then indeed we have purpose,’ said Ifayle.

Cadig Aval shrugged. ‘Assuming all that exists has purpose, an assumption of which I remain unconvinced.’

‘What do you need to be convinced?’ Korya demanded.

‘Persuasion.’

‘From whom?’

‘Yes, that is the frustrating part, isn’t it?’

With a faint snarl, Korya took Ifayle by the hand, pulling him back towards the door. ‘We’re leaving now.’

‘Well,’ said Cadig Aval behind them, ‘it was fun while it lasted. Perhaps,’ the ghost added, ‘that is all the purpose required.’

Outside, on the pathway once more, Ifayle asked, ‘Where are we going now?’

‘To collect Arathan, of course,’ she answered, pulling him along. ‘We need to get away from here – away from this gate of death. Can’t you feel this stopping of time reaching for us? It crawls under my skin, trying to burrow deeper. We stay too long, Ifayle, it will indeed kill us.’

‘And where shall we find Arathan?’

‘With Gothos, I expect.’

‘I think,’ Ifayle said after a time, ‘we need a better reason to exist.’

She considered his words, seeking an argument against his assertion, but could not find one.

* * *

Fourteen Jaghut gathered round Hood, Haut among them, waiting. At last and with a sigh, Hood withdrew his hands from the pale flames – none of which flickered, the thin tongues motionless, suspended above the embers – and looked up. After a moment he nodded. ‘It begins.’

‘Well that sounds portentous,’ Varandas offered as he adjusted his loincloth. ‘As if summoned by solemn gravity, his vanguard now surrounds their fearless and fearful leader. Hood, grief-shrouded, eye-hollowed, revenant of sorrow. Does he now rise to his feet as his mournful army draws close on all sides? Breaths are held with expectation-’

‘No,’ cut in Burrugast. ‘Just held. Your words, Varandas, are more gravid than grave. In any case, it is poor form to speak of graves-’

‘But of graven visages,’ interjected Gathras, ‘why, we are legion. Does the dirge now commence, O shrouded hollow Hood? We are the eye of the frozen world, and lo, it does not blink. Let us remember this moment-’

‘I see no likelihood of forgetting,’ Haut interrupted.

Gathras cast a cool look upon him and then nodded. ‘As you say, captain. What does it mean, however, that you hold rank in an army that never was?’

‘Potential is to be valued in all things,’ Burrugast pointed out.

‘To my sorrow,’ added Senad. ‘Of lovers I have had plenty. ’Twas Haut’s domination of all suitors that earned him his rank. For behold, the army was mine, and while all were fine troopers, only the captain was – and remains – the captain.’

Grunting sourly, Gathras said, ‘I’d wondered and now you give answer. The wonder drains away like piss on a pile of stones and yet one more bright colour fades with the knowing. Someone point the way into oblivion. I lean upon the threshold, as eager as any despairing woman or man.’

‘Despairing of eagerness in anything,’ said Burrugast, ‘I will follow, with dragging steps.’

Haut glanced over a shoulder. ‘Let death earn the dragged steps, Burrugast. Look, a last tangle of despondent travellers. Toblakai, Thel Akai, Thelomen? They all look the same to me, to be honest.’

‘Subtle observation was ever your failing, Haut,’ said Senad. ‘Were it otherwise, you would have achieved much higher rank.’

‘Would that be warlord, Senad, or lovelord?’

‘Varandas, flailing you began this conversation and flailing you end it.’

Hood rose in time to greet Gethol, who now pushed into view between Senad and Burrugast.

‘I have come to say goodbye, Hood,’ Gethol announced. He paused, and then said, ‘An army such as this I have never seen, and hope never to again. Why would you imagine that these “soldiers” would fight against what they all seek in the first place? Death will impose peace and embrace all who come into its arms.’

‘Perhaps Gethol has something there,’ Gathras observed. ‘After all, five centuries staring into death’s leering face might well have earned an inkling or two.’

‘Denied all else, inklings were his only sustenance,’ Haut pointed out, frowning at Gethol who still stood facing Hood. ‘Dare I say it under the circumstances, but time is wasting.’

Varandas was the first to laugh. In moments the others followed. Alas, only the Jaghut found their humour alive and well. Above it all, Burrugast raised his voice. ‘Remember your promise, Hood! You will lead us to the very face of the hoary spectre, the Lord of Rock-Piles, the Red Shroud, Gatherer of Skulls, and whatever other absurd title we devise!’ He raised his arms, spread them wide. ‘And we shall demand then … an answer!’

A Thel Akai woman, blonde-haired, who had been among the last of the stragglers, now shouted, ‘An answer to what, you tusked oaf?’

Arms still raised, Burrugast spun round to face her. ‘Oh, that,’ he said. ‘Well, we have plenty of time to come up with one or two questions, don’t we?’

The Thel Akai woman now turned on the rest of her party. ‘Do you hear this? Not for Lasa Rook a host of pathetic entreaties! Now, dear husbands, can we finally go home?’

As if in reply, the youngest of the Thel Akai warriors stepped away from his fellows. ‘Heed your wife,’ he said to the others.

One of the husbands snarled. ‘We’ve been heeding her all the way here, Hanako Cuckolder! Now it is up to her to follow us or not! Into death’s realm I say! Husbands, are you with me?’

The other two Thel Akai both nodded, though fear was writ plain on their faces.

‘Tathenal, are you mad?’ Lasa Rook was near tears, her face reddening. ‘It was just a game!’

‘But this isn’t!’ Tathenal retorted.

Haut saw Hood say something to Gethol, who nodded and walked away, out from the press surrounding Hood and his frozen fire.

And in that moment, he knew the time had indeed arrived. Eyes filling with tears, he looked to Hood. Goodbye, Korya Delathe. Until we meet again, as indeed we shall. Let this moment end. But no ending will find-

* * *

‘Arathan!’

Drawing his cloak tighter against the chill outside Gothos’s tower, he turned to see Korya approaching with a Dog-Runner youth half a step behind her.

The night seemed impossibly dark, but a wind had risen, sweeping in from the sea to the west. The acrid bite of salt flats rode each gust. ‘Ah,’ said Arathan, ‘this must be the one with the blue eyes and freckles on his arms.’

Scowling, Korya said, ‘He is named Ifayle.’

The Dog-Runner bowed, and then smiled. ‘Arathan, son of Draconus, I have heard much of you.’

‘He’s coming with us,’ Korya pronounced.

‘Yet another protector,’ Arathan replied, ‘making my presence even more irrelevant.’ He turned from them both. ‘I am going with Hood. Not even Gothos can stop me.’

‘Arathan-’

Waving dismissively behind him, he set out for the camp, the wind slapping at his back, and now he tasted salty rain on its swirling breath. Looking for the moon, he found it gone from the sky, and only a thin swath of stars was visible, above the east horizon, as clouds massed above him.

A miserable dawn was in the offing, though the paling of the east was still a bell or so away.

Emerging from the ragged edge of the abandoned city, he looked out upon the vast camp, its huddled hide tents and makeshift shelters, its scattering of cookfires dying now in the depths of the night. For once, it seemed the turning weather had driven everyone into their hovels, for he saw no one.

He continued on, seeking the singular, isolated pale star that was Hood’s strange fire. There would be Jaghut gathered round that, no matter how foul the weather. And yet, as he drew nearer, he saw no one but a lone standing figure, his back to Arathan.

Hood?

Hearing his approach, the figure turned.

There were streaks upon Gethol’s seamed, hollowed cheeks. Seeing Arathan, he said, ‘They are gone.’

What? ‘No, they can’t be!’

‘You were never meant for this, Arathan. Gothos has relinquished you to my care. I will guard you home,’ he said, and then with a nod behind Arathan, ‘and these two, as well.’

Turning, Arathan saw that Korya and Ifayle had followed. He advanced on her. ‘You knew!’

‘I felt them leave, if that’s what you mean.’

‘Leave? Leave where? They left … everything!’

She shrugged. ‘No point taking it with them, I suppose.’

Now Ifayle was weeping as well, but this did nothing to soften Arathan’s hard anger, his sense of betrayal.

‘They stepped outside time, Arathan,’ said Korya. ‘Omtose Phellack always favoured …’ She paused, searching for the right words.

Clearing his throat, Gethol said, ‘The lure of stasis, Korya Delath. Very perceptive of you. One day, perhaps, you will see what Jaghut can do with ice.’

Helpless, Arathan looked around, and then raised his hands. ‘So that’s it? Abandoned again? What of my own desires? Oh, never mind those, Arathan! Just go where you’re told!’

‘The path you take in Kurald Galain,’ said Gethol, ‘belongs entirely to you. But let me make this plain enough. Gothos is done with you. He returns his gift.’

‘But Father won’t be there, will he?’

‘You wish to find him?’

Arathan hesitated and then scowled. ‘Not particularly.’

‘It is near dawn,’ resumed Gethol. ‘I will gather provisions. It is my thought that we depart this day.’

‘I can’t even say goodbye to him?’ Arathan asked.

‘I believe you already have, Arathan. In any case, the Lord of Hate now revels in his renewed solitude. Would you dampen his joy?’

‘He never revels.’

‘A manner of speech,’ Gethol said, shrugging apologetically. He turned to the others. ‘And a Dog-Runner, it seems. What fun. Shall we all meet at dawn then? At the city’s old east gate? The twin stumps, that is. The ones flanking what used to be a road. Oh, never mind. Come to the city’s edge; I’ll find you.’

Arathan watched Gethol walk away. Avoiding Korya’s steady gaze, he turned to find the ashes of Hood’s hearth. The first thin blades of grass were growing from it, their bright green colour awaiting birth in the sun’s rise.

‘They’re dead, Arathan,’ Korya said behind him. ‘Or as good as. Whoever you wanted to find there, beyond those gates, well, she’ll still be there, no matter how long it takes you to finally join her.’

He shot her a glance, and then shook his head. ‘It’s not – you don’t understand. Never mind.’ He pulled his cloak tighter and glared at the sky. ‘So where in the Abyss has the spring gone, anyway?’